Long Road to Ruin
by wandathefish
Summary: Dean Winchester is right-hand man to mafia boss Michael Di Angeles. Dean is unfailingly loyal to his boss and completely trustworthy… except maybe when it comes to Michael's blue-eyed lover. AU Dean/Cas
1. Chapter 1

"Winchester, could you come and join me for a moment please."

The softly spoken words may have sounded like a friendly invitation, but Dean knows as well as any, that a request from the lips of Michael Di Angeles carries as much weight as a command from a general.

Dean detaches himself from his post against the drawing room wall, a sick nervous feeling building in the pit of his stomach as he falls into step beside his boss. He doesn't think he'll ever get over his uneasiness around Di Angeles. But then he doubts many people are comfortable around a man with a reputation such as his.

There are few alive who know the true story of Michael Di Angeles' rise in the underworld of New York… or more accurately, few who know from first hand experience which of the stories about the mafia lord are true and which are fiction.

Needless to say, Dean has certainly seen enough of the man to know that when he says "Jump", you ask "How high?"

"I have something of a… personal favour I would like to ask of you."

There he goes again, making requests.

"Of course, boss, whatever you need."

Michael smiles that indulgent fatherly smile. He's not as old as John Winchester would have been now, and John Winchester certainly didn't scare the crap out of Dean the way Michael does, but sometimes, Dean finds himself likening his boss to his dad. Maybe it's the irrational desire to do whatever it takes to make him proud. John Winchester died without ever giving his eldest son the approval he so badly he craved; he was never the overly caring and sharing type. And whilst Michael isn't exactly warm and fuzzy, he's not above dropping a few words of praise where it's deserved, and so Dean finds himself constantly striving harder, pushing himself above and beyond to do whatever it takes to please the man. As a result, he's quickly become one of Di Angeles' most trusted men.

"It's about Castiel."

But there it is. The big fat reminder of why Dean certainly doesn't deserve that trust. He feels a warm rush followed by an icy stab of fear, as he does every time he hears Michael mention his partner's name. Dean swallows although his mouth has gone suddenly dry, and hopes that his ruffled composure does not show in his expression.

Of course it doesn't, he's been doing this far too long to make a mistake like that.

"I was supposed to be taking Castiel to the opera tonight, a surprise for his birthday. Unfortunately, something has come up and I have to go away for a few days." Dean has an uneasy feeling he knows where this is going. "I was hoping perhaps you would be able to take him, with my apologies."

So not a good idea.

"Sir, I really don't think Mr Novak would want to…"

"Dean, Castiel will be perfectly happy spending an evening with you… although I would wager he will not even realise you are there once you get him to his beloved opera."

Dean knows he cannot refuse, so instead, he takes a deep breath and asks,

"When would you like me to pick Mr Novak up?"

(***)

Castiel eyes his reflection in the mirror as he slips on his dinner jacket and adjusts his bowtie. Despite loading it with gel, his dark hair is already beginning to stick up at odd angles, but he doesn't bother trying to tame it any more, he knows from past experience the more he fiddles the worse it will look. He picks up the new bottle of aftershave Michael has sent him, along with a note telling him when to be ready. He removes the lid and takes an experimental sniff, but immediately recoils, screwing up his face. Replacing the lid swiftly, he pushes the bottle to the back of a drawer.

Ten years and Michael still knows nothing of his tastes. Or most likely he knows, he just doesn't care. Michael would much prefer to buy Castiel something for a thousand dollars that he hates, than go for a cheap alternative.

And more often than not, Castiel will wear it… it's safer than the alternative. Lately though, he's been tempted to push the boundaries a little, see how far he can get. Maybe he's losing his sense of self preservation, or discovering a masochistic side to himself he never knew he had.

Or maybe he's just growing tired of the feeling that he has no say in his own life… once happy to go along with anything to make Michael happy, grateful for the other man's care and protection, recently he's been plagued by discontent. And a dangerous desire for something more than he has, probably more than he deserves, but can't prevent himself from wanting all the same… something for himself.

Smiling self depreciatingly in the mirror, Castiel shakes his head to try and clear the cloud of melancholy. It's his birthday. Michael has a surprise planned for him. He should be excited.

Castiel hears the clock in the main hall chime seven; Michael will be downstairs waiting for him; the man despises tardiness. Taking a last glance at his reflection, Castiel arranges his features into… well, if not excitement, something at least denoting a certain enthusiasm. Breathing deeply, Castiel retreats a little into himself, fake smile held in place with little conscious thought, and heads down the stairs to greet his lover.

(***)

"Are we leaving right away?" Castiel calls as he opens the hall closet to retrieve his overcoat. Michael is not in the entrance hall so Castiel presumes he is having a drink in the drawing room while he waits.

"Michael?" he calls, when there is no reply Castiel sticks his head into the drawing room, finding it dark and empty, and tilts his head in confusion.

"Hey Cas."

The voice that greets him comes from behind… and is certainly not the one he was expecting. He whirls around to find the owner of the voice leaning casually against the door frame, dressed in an expensive looking black tux that emphasises the breadth of his shoulders and the trimness of his waist. The smirk is casual, an openly friendly expression designed to reassure, but there is an unreadable glimmer behind the soft green eyes.

"Dean…" he breathes, raking his eyes over the other man, so unexpected he almost forgets himself. "What are you doing here?" he struggles to keep his tone nonchalant.

"Came to take you out for your birthday," Dean grins. "Mr Di Angeles' orders. I'm to look after you whilst he's…" Dean pauses for a second and lowers his eyelids, a slow smile spreading across his face. When he glances back to Castiel, the look he gives him makes the other man's breath catch and his heart speed, "…out of town."

Castiel catches his lip between his teeth, unable to prevent the blush heating his cheeks, or the warm rush of blood further south.

"Michael's not here?" Castiel breathes.

Dean shakes his head in confirmation, stepping forward to take Castiel's overcoat and hold it out for him.

Their gazes remain locked as Castiel slowly turns, slipping his arms into the sleeves and allowing Dean to slide the coat on.

"That's… unfortunate." He murmurs.

Dean breaks eye contact and turns his attention to adjusting the coat over Castiel's shoulders, taking his time smoothing the material down his arms before returning to fix the collar.

"It is indeed, Mr Novak," Dean's face is a picture of innocence, but he can't help but bite his lip when his fingers gently brush Castiel's neck and he feels the other man shiver. "But fortunately, I'm here, and my orders are to do whatever it takes to make sure you have the perfect birthday."

Dean carefully turns Castiel around so they are stood toe to toe, then slides his hands up to tweak the front of the already perfect overcoat. He's fully aware of the other man's swift breathing as he lets his eyes slowly caress his sharp jawline lingering for a moment on soft pink lips, before finally lifting to meet the wide blue gaze boring into him.

His lips curve into a lazily seductive smile.

"Whatever it takes."


	2. Chapter 2

It's a fundamental fact of human nature that being told not to do something automatically makes it suddenly irresistible.

It was a constant irritation to Dean growing up, when he was told to watch his little brother, and the damn kid did the opposite of everything Dean said. _Don't put that twig in your mouth Sammy... Sam, don't dare touch that dead bird... Dude, don't put your spoon in the power socket…_

But now- well, Dean is a little perturbed to find that he apparently has the same basic traits as a five-year old.

Dean's not an idiot, it's not like he isn't used to being around Castiel, measuring all his words and actions to make sure he doesn't slip up. Keeping his eyes averted and his hands to himself despite all his instincts telling him to do otherwise has become practically second nature to him.

Usually it isn't this difficult.

The driver up front has a good view of everything that goes on in the car, and Dean's fully aware of what the consequence could be for one stray touch, or a gaze that lingers a little too long. Nevertheless, the more he reminds himself that he _isn't_ allowed to just reach out and lay his hand on Castiel's thigh, the more appealing the idea becomes.

_Damn that stupid negative suggestion shit._

Castiel himself appears oblivious to Dean's internal struggle. He sits quietly, with his body angled slightly away from Dean, gazing contemplatively out into the dark night. His hand rests on the dark leather of the seat between them, and every so often he drums his fingers lightly, unwittingly drawing Dean's attention to the long pale appendage.

Narrowing his eyes as though the hand is personally mocking him, Dean casually allows his own to fall to the seat, and subtly shifts it until it rests gently against Castiel's.

He doesn't look at Castiel, but he hears the other man's quiet intake of breath, and after a few moments Castiel fidgets slightly. The movement is tiny, but Dean cannot mistake it as a cool finger deliberately traces the back of his hand before Castiel folds his arms into his lap.

Dean bites back a sigh, wondering if Castiel knows just how much affect he has on him.

He steals a glance at the other man, and swallows heavily when he finds himself trapped by an assessing blue stare. He holds the gaze for a second too long, his throat working dryly. He is just about to break away when Castiel smirks slightly, a barely there twitch of his lips, then Dean's eyes catch a flash of pink, and the glisten of Castiel's tongue as he wets his lips.

Dean turns abruptly and glares out of the window.

Bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

(***)

The excessive early evening traffic means the journey takes a little under an hour, and by the time they arrive, Dean is more than ready to be out of the enclosed space. He makes a lousy passenger at the best of times, preferring instead to be the one behind the wheel, and the addition of Castiel sat less than two feet away, looking ridiculously hot in his custom tailored suit has only served to compound his discomfort.

When the car pulls up outside the opera house, it takes him a moment to remember that Castiel has spent all this time not knowing where they were headed.

"Oh, so we're going to the opera," Dean turns his head at the other man's pleased sigh to see him gazing out of the window with a contented smile.

"Oh yeah… um… surprise," Dean chuckles awkwardly, glancing over Castiel's shoulder to the impressive image the theatre makes outlined against the night sky, it's tall arches lit from within.

"La Traviata," Dean follows Castiel's gaze to the promotional signs outside the theatre, "It's the opening night."

"Is that… good?"

Castiel hums in pleasure and turns to Dean, his eyes bright and a small smile gracing his lips. "It's one of my favourites."

Dean grins affectionately at the look on Castiel's face; for a man usually so expressionless, he looks about as close to a kid at the gates of Disney World as you can get. Suddenly Dean is struck by a sharp pang of jealousy at the thought that Michael is the one who has put that look on his face.

"Come on," he prompts gently, "It's starting soon and we'll want to be in our seats by then."

Castiel nods and exits the car whilst Dean makes arrangements with the driver to collect them later.

"Enjoy the opera Winchester," the kid snickers.

"Shut it, loser," Dean claps him round the head good-naturedly, before sliding out of the car and joining Castiel on the sidewalk.

"Ok Pavarotti," he smirks, "Let's go."

(***)

Castiel appears to be well known in the opera house. The second they pass through the grand double doors into the foyer, the chief usher rushes over to greet him by name.

Dean hangs back awkwardly whilst they fall into easy conversation about the upcoming performance. He has no idea what they are talking about, but he's pretty sure most of it isn't in English.

Eventually Castiel turns to catch his eye, seeming surprised that Dean isn't still beside him.

"Come on Dean," he beckons, "George is going to show us to our box."

Dean's eyes widen as he falls into step beside Castiel, following the short greying man through the theatre's narrow hallways, softly lit by flickering imitation candles in intricate brass holders. Somehow, he never equated Michael's mention of theatre seats, with Di Angeles' own private box.

If he had, he may have been more inclined to try his hand at refusing the man for once.

The chief usher, 'George' apparently, finally leads them into a corridor different from the others. All along one wall are the heavy red curtains that enclose the boxes. At the very last one, they stop, and the old man pulls the drapes aside for them.

"I hope you enjoy the performance gentleman," he bows slightly, waiting until they step inside, then allows the heavy curtain to fall back into place... and they are alone.

Dean swallows thickly as he gazes around the small intimate space, all rich velvet upholstery and muted lighting, the side panel and rail block out most of the audience and give the illusion of privacy.

Inappropriately, he is reminded of the booths at a brothel he used to frequent in his younger days.

Really not the kind of thing he needs to be thinking of right now.

Castiel remains silent, and Dean fidgets uncomfortably, struggling to find his usual confidence when he is so far out of his comfort zone. Glancing around uncertainly, he reaches for one of the chairs, mainly for something to do, and gestures for the other man to sit. Castiel stares at him for a long moment, then takes a deliberate step closer until their bodies are pressed lightly together, and their noses are mere inches apart.

Dean draws in a sharp breath at the sudden proximity.

"Thank you Dean," Castiel murmurs, holding Dean's blown gaze, whilst Dean's heart rate triples at the feel of the other man's warm breath skimming his face.

The moment drags on, and Dean finds himself unable to move. His senses are overloaded by Castiel's closeness, the scent of his skin, and the heat radiating through the Italian-spun fabric of his suit. Everything in him is screaming to reach out for the other man, so much so, his fingers tighten around the back of the chair, unable to let go for fear he will take hold of something else.

"Cas… please sit down," Dean's voice comes out strained and uneven, unsure how long he can keep himself in check if Castiel insists on testing his limits. People can see them here dammit! And Castiel is obviously well known in the place. Castiel sighs softly and backs away; he throws Dean a sheepish smile before stepping past and seating himself.

Dean lets out a long breath, and takes his own seat gratefully, rubbing his damp palms against his thighs. He inhales deeply, trying to calm himself, concentrating on his own racing heart, rather than the soft breaths coming from the seat beside him. He is well aware that Castiel is watching him, but he pushes it from his mind, focusing instead on the disjointed sound of the orchestra tuning up.

"I'm very grateful to you for bringing me here Dean," Castiel's soft words interrupt his careful concentration. "I realise that this is not exactly your idea of an enjoyable evening."

"Don't worry about it man." Dean chuckles, "It's your birthday, we do your thing. I just hope you have a good time."

Castiel considers Dean for a moment from beneath his eyelashes, then his lips part in a slow smile.

"Oh I have no doubt that you will show me a good time."

Dean splutters a little, whilst Castiel smirks, turning his eyes to the stage.

_Bastard_

(***)

The opera turns out to be much more interesting than Dean had imagined.

Obviously not the bit with the people in dumb costumes wailing on the stage- Dean barely spares them a glance.

No, the really entertaining part comes from watching Castiel. The man is a performance unto himself… and Dean is riveted.

He had worried that he would have to endure a whole evening of mischievous smirks and suggestive comments, but the second the first note of the overture sounds, Castiel's attention is absolute.

Dean observes in amusement as the other man, usually so closed off and stoic, comes alive watching the performance unfold. His expressions mimic the performers'- the laughter, the horror, during the intermission he forgoes any opportunity to tease Dean some more, in favour of explaining the intricacies of the plot. Dean listens and nods politely, but the words wash over him without him really registering anything other than how Castiel's cheeks are flushed pink, and the way his usually rough voice softens to a warm caress when he is so animated.

When the final note is sung and the last chord has faded away into the ether, Dean is almost sorry that it's over. Castiel remains frozen for a moment before drawing a deep shuddering breath. His smile is blinding when he turns to Dean.

"Thank you Dean, that was wonderful."

Even over the rapturous applause of the audience, Dean hears the soft words clear as day. It's on the tip of his tongue to blurt that he hasn't done anything, it wasn't his gift and he's only doing his job. But in the face of Castiel's gratitude, the words die in his throat, and he can only nod dumbly.

Castiel turns back to the stage, adding his own appreciation to the standing ovation the cast are receiving. Dean can't help but be captivated by the small smile of pleasure that sits on his lips.

Eventually the applause dies down, and the crowd starts to file towards the exits. Like a spell has been broken, Castiel looks at Dean, and for the first time in hours, his attention is on him fully.

Dean fidgets under the weight of that stare, feeling as though he has been shown a secret part of Castiel tonight, something he has never seen before. He smiles awkwardly and runs his hands through his hair.

"So, we should probably head off now, the car will be waiting."

Castiel considers him a moment longer, then nods and stands silently, holding out a hand to Dean to help him up. Dean grips it and is tugged to his feet, but gasps when the other man doesn't let go, and he finds himself with Castiel right up in his personal space.

"I seem to remember you promising me the perfect birthday," Castiel murmurs, glancing up at Dean from beneath hooded lids.

Dean swallows nervously and glances around, finding gratefully that the theatre is almost empty.

"So I did."

Castiel's thumb snakes up to Dean's wrist, smoothing small circles into the sensitive skin.

"Well so far it has been excellent, but I don't think I could say it was perfect… yet."

"Is that right?" Dean croaks, his heart rate picking up as the tension from earlier returns, rushing up on him and stealing his breath. "And what would you like me to do about that?"

Castiel hums softly, pressing impossibly closer in the plush cocoon of their secluded retreat. His nose runs gently along Dean's jawline, inhaling softly and causing Dean's brain to short-circuit.

Soft lips press to his ear, and Dean groans when he feels the light scrape of teeth against his lobe. The rumbled words that are spoken into his skin send a wave of heat crashing through him, a rush of arousal hot on it's heels.

"Take me home Dean."

**A/N. Thanks you guys for all the faves / alerts / reviews, I really wasn't expecting them. Since I'm new to this whole writing game, any feedback- good or constructive will be much appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I wanted to be tasteful… but I think I may have slipped over the line into smut.**

**Be warned.**

* * *

><p>Dean avoids looking at Castiel at all during the return trip, instead spending his time glowering out of the window, his jaw clenched in semi-aroused agitation.<p>

He tries to concentrate on the lights of the city moving past outside, but their slow progress soon frustrates him and he takes to staring at the back of the driver's head instead, internally cursing him for his careful driving.

He can't really blame the kid for not going any faster; the traffic's heavy and Dean wouldn't exactly be keen on weaving through small gaps if he was in charge of one of Di Angeles expensive motors. Still, he wishes now more than ever that he was the one in the driving seat - at least if he had the road to focus on he might not be thinking so much about how easy it would be to lay Castiel out on the roomy backseat… how he could cover Cas's body with his own and press him into the soft leather…

_Dammit._

Dean tries to shove the tempting image from his mind as he feels himself begin to harden. He screws his eyes shut and shifts awkwardly in his seat, attempting to think of something… _anything_ that will stop this journey becoming any more uncomfortable that it already is.

He drops his head back hard against the solid headrest, letting out a long slow breath of defeat.

It's going to be a long journey.

(***)

Despite Dean's doubts that the tension-filled trip would ever end, the car finally turns into the gravel drive of Di Angeles' residence, less than an hour after they left the theatre.

Dean looks up at the approaching red-brick building still shrouded in darkness, and heaves an internal sigh of relief; the unlit windows and empty garage around the side indicate nothing has changed since they left earlier in the evening. He had half expected to come home and find Michael ensconced in his study, a brandy and Cuban in each hand.

That really would have put a dampener on things.

Castiel catches his eye with the barest hint of a smile, and a gleam of anticipation that makes Dean's stomach twist pleasantly. It appears he has had a similar thought.

The car comes to a stop outside the front door, and Castiel gathers his gloves and programme quietly.

"Thank you for a pleasant evening Dean," He murmurs, hand on the door-handle.

"Of course Mr Novak," Dean meets his gaze evenly, trying to remain unfazed by the suggestive arch of the other man's eyebrow, "It was my pleasure."

Castiel's smile widens, "I very much doubt it," he smirks, "Opera is not to everyone's taste. But I appreciate it all the same."

Still smiling, he thanks the driver and bids them both goodnight. He exit the car and makes his way up to the house, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at Dean, along with a slight quirk of his lips.

Dean tries and fails not to follow the slight sway of his narrow hips as he walks; but his eyes are drawn automatically to where the well fitted outfit hugs the subtle curve of his…

"You need a ride home Dean?" The driver's voice suddenly pulls Dean from his gawking, as he puts the car back in gear and eases it around to the garage, "I've got an extra helmet for my bike if you want to hop on?"

Dean has to smother a chuckle at the thought of his own bulky frame on the back of a Honda Hobbit, he manages to keep a straight face as he politely declines.

"It's ok, I've got the Impala round the back, and I…" Dean scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, "… and I wanted to give the place a quick once over for Mr Di Angeles before I leave."

It seems like a dubious excuse to Dean's own biased ears, but the other guy actually looks impressed by Dean's dedication.

Dean feels a little twinge of shame at that.

"Cool man, see you around then."

Dean smiles weakly as he watches the other man toss his chauffeur's jacket and cap into the trunk of the car, before donning a bright orange helmet with what looks like a Looney tunes character painted on the back. He tries to appear nonchalant bidding him goodbye… not at all like someone who is watching like a hawk, waiting to make sure you actually leave. But as the small tinny engine splutters to life and chugs out of the garage, Dean can't help the smile that spreads across his face.

With one last glance around, he makes his way to the back door.

(***)

Castiel stands at the drawing room's large bay window, his fingers worrying the cuff of his jacket restlessly as he tracks the single red light retreating down the drive. The taillight shrinks to a pinprick as he watches, then blinks suddenly from existence when the moped turns onto the main road.

He lets out a small sigh of relief, leaning his brow against the cool pane of glass in an attempt to steady his rioting nerves. Its craziness to even contemplate what he's doing now, a bigger risk than any other he's taken… but then he's long known that he has no sanity where Dean Winchester is concerned.

Castiel watches as the glass fogs in time with his uneven breathing. He finds the focus of the small water droplets forming and dissipating oddly soothing, and observes them so intently he barely hears the soft creak behind him which is his only warning before a strong pair of arm are wrapped around his waist and a solid weight pressed to his back.

He smiles as he is engulfed by the familiar scent of leather and motor oil that could be only one person, and leans back into the other man, letting out a soft sigh when warm lips find the sensitive skin of his neck.

"Hello Dean," he murmurs, tilting his head to allow better access, and groaning quietly when Dean takes full advantage, using tongue and teeth to scrape and tease. Dean grips his hips, pulling him back tightly, allowing Castiel to feel the already solid length of Dean's arousal pressed into his backside. Castiel deliberately rolls his hips back, hard, against the taller man's groin, whimpering quietly at the low growl Dean breathes hot into his ear.

"You've been such a fucking tease tonight Cas… you know that?"

Castiel braces his hands against the window as Dean grinds slowly against his ass.

"I have no idea what you're talking ab… ah!" Castiel breaks off with a choked gasp when one of Dean's hands slides down to his crotch, firmly pressing against his own hard cock. "God Dean…"

He manages to push himself upright and turns abruptly, his lips search blindly until his mouth finds Dean's and he moans in relief. The kiss deepens instantly, Dean's tongue sliding insistently between his lips as Castiel gropes between them to tease the hot bulge pressed to Dean's thigh.

"Fuck Cas…" Dean breaks away to groan, want coursing through him and making him lightheaded. Castiel begins pushing feverishly at Dean's clothes, desperate to feel naked skin under his fingers. Dean takes up the pace, growling in frustration when Castiel's shirt refuses to cooperate; retaliating by ripping it open, sending small white buttons flying in all directions.

Dean shoves Castiel up against the window, crowding in on him to press their bodies together. Castiel gasps, his sense overwhelmed by the feel of the icy glass against his back, compared to the burning heat of Dean's flesh at his front. His fingers rake Dean's skin, clutching at the other man and dragging him closer. Dean moans, catching onto Castiel's lips again and swallowing each of his breathy sighs.

It's been far too long since he had those hands on him.

"I wanna taste you Cas…" Dean growls in the other man's ear, "I want to take you in my mouth, and swallow you down." Castiel whimpers, a searing heat blazing through him. "Would you like that Cas? Huh? Would you like seeing me on my knees for you?"

Castiel can only whine, a low wrecked sound that goes beyond words.

"You'll have to do better than that," Dean's hands start work on the other man's belt, undoing his trousers and slipping a hand inside to palm his leaking cock through his underwear. "Talk to me Cas, tell me what you want…tell me what you need to make this birthday perfect..."

"You Dean…" Castiel manages to gasp, gripping on to the heavy damask curtains behind him as Dean drops to his knees. "Your mouth…"

He chokes back a cry when Dean pulls down his underwear, exposing his hard flesh to the cool air. Dean flicks out his tongue, almost experimentally, dipping into the slit and stealing the drop of pre-come beading there. He smirks as Castiel pushes forwards, trying to make him take more; he grips the other man's hips, forcing him to stay still, and looks up through his lashes into frustrated blue eyes.

"Tell me Cas…" He whispers, "Tell me what to do."

Dean continues to tease with his tongue, holding Castile's blown gaze; small kittenish licks that do nothing for Castiel but increase his exasperation. When Dean's lips close loosely over the flushed head of his dick, enclosing him in damp heat but offering little in the way of friction, Castiel can't bite his tongue any longer.

"God Dean… please," he almost sobs, "Please suck me… please… please…"

Gratified to hear Castiel beg, but unable to hold back any longer anyway, Dean quickly takes Castiel's length into his mouth, relaxing his throat and taking him all in one go. Castiel practically howls at the sudden pressure; his knees buckle and it's only Dean's grip on his hips that keeps him upright.

Dean moans listening to the other man falling apart, he doesn't think he will ever get enough of the delicious sounds Castiel makes. The cries now falling from his lips, along with the familiar weight of the other man on his tongue have Dean scrambling with his own flies to release his aching erection.

He quickly finds a rhythm, swallowing around Castiel's cock, and dragging a tight fist over himself. He feels Castiel's thighs clench and knows the other man is close… so he is surprised when he finds himself being pushed away violently and dragged to his feet.

"Fuck Cas, I wanted to…" Dean is cut off from voicing his displeasure by the suffocating kiss he is pulled into, and the swift tongue plundering his mouth.

"Had to touch you," Castiel groans into his mouth, fingers searching out the solid weight of his erection, and gripping it eagerly.

Ok, Dean can certainly get on board with that.

He takes the other man in hand, sweat and pre-come easing the way as he works him roughly, simultaneously chasing his own release. They clutch at each other tightly, sharing air whilst their bodies clamour forwards.

"God Dean," Castiel presses his face into Dean's throat, his balls tightening as he charges towards oblivion, "Fuck Dean… I'm gonna… I'm gonna come…"

"Come on Cas, let me watch you… let me see you come hard…"Dean keeps his eyes trained on the other man's face, enthralled by the expression of bliss painting his cheeks pink and screwing his eyes shut.

He has never seen anything so fucking beautiful.

"Dean…" Castiel lets out a long low cry, body locking up as he seizes and releases over Dean's fingers. His hand goes limp around Dean's cock, but just the sight of the other man, along with a few thrusts against the loose grip have Dean following right after. Dean lets out a hoarse shout, his vision blurring at the edges whilst his legs threaten to give way. He is distantly aware of Castiel's voice in his ear, encouraging him from height to height, and then, everything is white...

(***)

For a long time there is only the ragged sounds of their breathing, as both men come down from their highs, struggling to slow their racing hearts.

Dean holds Castiel tightly in the aftermath of their orgasms, unwilling to let even an inch of space between them.

"God I've missed you…" he breathes eventually, inhaling the sweat cooling on the other man's skin. His chest aches at the feeling of Castiel held closely in his arms, too long since he had it last. "I've missed you so fucking much."

Castiel leans back heavily on the pleasantly cool window, pulling Dean to him, tucking his head under his chin. He runs his fingers carefully through Dean's hair.

"Me too Dean," he murmurs, pressing his lips softly to Dean's damp brow. He closes his eyes and sighs heavily. "Me too."

**Ok so… yeah. This didn't exactly turn out the way it did in my head, but I figure if its half as hot as I pictured it, it might be ok **


	4. Chapter 4

_Castiel is seventeen years old when he loses his aunt and adopted mother, Rachel, to an undiagnosed brain tumour._

_Orphaned at the ages of five and two, Castiel and his younger sister, Anna, had looked set for a life of care homes and foster families; their parents having no other living relatives than a dour middle-aged man named Zachariah. _

_A mildly successful car salesman with an ego unmatched by his achievements, Zachariah was as likely to run for president as he was to take in his dead sister's two children. _

_But Zachariah was an ambitious man. He had long been trying to convince his secretary Rachel Santi to marry him, lured by her familial connections to the prestigious Di Angeles family, but to date, had had limited success. However the minute he saw Rachel's kind-hearted concern over the plight of the two children, he knew he had his opening._

'_Of course I would love to take in the two orphans… but the courts are hardly likely to hand them over to a single man my age… perhaps if I had a wife…'_

_Castiel will never know how Zachariah managed to talk Rachel into marrying him, but he knows he will always be grateful for it. His aunt may have suffered an unhappy marriage, but she had been a doting mother; and for their part, Castiel and Anna had loved her fiercely. _

_The funeral, in Castiel's opinion, is a last insult to his aunt; a blatant display by Zachariah, to massage his own ego and pander to the Di Angeles'. The hideously grandiose affair is a direct contradiction to everything Rachel would have wanted. From the horse drawn carriages, to the twelve-piece string ensemble, to the mountainous extravagant flower arrangements- she would have hated it all._

_The devastation Castiel feels at his loss, combined with the bitter outrage at this final wrong, makes the day one of the worst in Castiel's memory._

_It is also the day he first sets eyes on Michael Di Angeles._

_It happens at the graveside; Castiel is stood amongst the other mourners, Anna tucked protectively under his arm sobbing quietly into his shirt. The priest is tonelessly droning the committal rite amongst the rustle of handkerchiefs and muffled weeping, as the coffin makes its slow descent, steadily swallowed by the great gaping hole in the ground. Once it reaches its final resting place, the bearers release it, and the family are invited to scatter the first handfuls of dirt._

_For a moment nothing happens, and Castiel looks to his uncle, wondering why Zachariah hasn't stepped forwards first. But to his confusion, Zachariah and every other person, are looking towards someone else._

_Frowning uncomprehendingly, Castiel watches another man slowly approaching the graveside. He is tall with dark hair, but his face is shrouded in shadow as his head remains bowed. The man dismisses the proffered bucket of dry earth, and instead crouches down, removing one black glove and digging his fingers into the soft damp soil on the ground. He pauses for a moment, his hand carding through the fresh earth, then pulls himself upright and walks to the foot of the grave. His voice rings out, clear and deep, as he murmurs a prayer in flawless Latin, before scattering his offering, then looks up to Zachariah giving the man permission to move._

_It is only then, Castiel realises who he is looking at. _

_This must be Michael Di Angeles himself. Head of the family. The only man here with the right to lead the mourning. _

_For some reason, Castiel had thought him to be older._

_Other mourners step up one at a time, dropping their own handfuls of dirt; earth to earth and all that, until it is Castiel and Anna's turn. Brother and sister step forward shakily, Anna's sobs growing in volume as she drops the small posy of daisies, handpicked this morning and tied with a thin ribbon like the ones Rachel would wind through Anna's hair as a child. Castiel tosses a handful of cornflowers. Rachel had loved the colour, saying they reminded her of Castiel's eyes._

_When Castiel looks up, for a moment he catches the steel grey gaze of Michael Di Angeles fixed directly on him. His heart stutters and he swallows, briefly frozen by the intensity of the other man's stare, until Anna's hand on his arm pulls his attention away, and he follows her quietly back to their place._

_At the time Castiel thinks little of it, his thoughts too consumed by his grief to recall such a fleeting glance, but his sister later comments how the tall dark haired man in the long grey overcoat "didn't take his eyes off you all day". _

_Castiel isn't really sure how he feels about that._

* * *

><p>Dean kicks his jeans from around his ankles as he flops down breathlessly onto the overstuffed settee. He catches Castiel's wrist and pulls him onto his lap, letting out a small huff as the other man's boneless weight lands on top of him. The world still has that fabulously blurry post-orgasmic haze, and the two men revel in it silently, intent on making the most of every last second.<p>

Eventually Dean has to shift when the leather starts to stick uncomfortably to his naked backside, he smirks at the disgruntled blue glare he receives as he nudges Castiel from his sated doze.

Castiel rests his head back against Dean's chest, and Dean starts to trace his fingertips lightly over the other man's skin, watching in fascination the goosebumps that form on the pale flesh, "So… I guess this is a first for us, huh?" he murmurs, breaking the silence.

Castiel stiffens slightly, but Dean says nothing more, continuing the soothing motions until Castiel relaxes back into the light caress, turning to press his face into the crook of Dean's neck.

"It is," he sighs, mouthing softly at Dean's skin, trailing his tongue around the hollow of his collarbone. "Does it bother you?"

Dean hums softly as he considers the question.

In the two years he and Castiel have been doing… whatever it is they're doing, never once has anything happened under Michael's own roof. It's mostly down to lack of opportunity, but there is also the additional disloyalty that niggles Dean's conscience. It shouldn't make a difference- sleeping with your boss's partner is betrayal wherever it's done, but Dean has always felt better about keeping it elsewhere, places not connected with Michael.

He looks around the room, so synonymous with his boss; the crystal decanter on the side board and the smell of cigar smoke and cologne heavy in the air. He knows he's never going to be able to sit through another meeting in here without picturing Castiel against the window, writhing in pleasure and moaning his name.

Despite himself, Dean can't help but feel a little excited by that.

"No," he sighs gently, "It doesn't."

"Good," Castiel mumbles into his skin, before wrapping his hand around his neck and tugging him down for a slow lazy kiss.

It begins thorough and unhurried, but eventually they are reaching deeper, stealing from each other's mouths in a filthy wet slide of lips and tongues, and when they pull apart, both are breathing heavily.

"Dean?" Castiel breathes softly.

"Hmm?" Dean's lips find their way to Castiel's neck, licking and nipping gently, admiring the small moans that drop from Castiel's lips.

"Will you take me to bed?"

Dean pauses for a moment, looking up at Castiel with a smirk.

"You think you need to ask?" he leers, his pupils blown wide and his cock already regaining interest, "Come on Cas, surely you know me better than that?"

Castiel's lips twist self-deprecatingly.

"I just thought you might feel… uncomfortable," Castiel mutters awkwardly, dropping his gaze from Dean's and twining their fingers together.

Dean stares at him in confusion, unsure what he's missed here. He repeats Castiel's words over in his head, and then it clicks, and he realises exactly what Castiel is asking him.

Without a word, he pulls Castiel to his feet, and leads the other man to the stairs.

(***)

Castiel sighs softly when Dean lays him down on the silk sheets he usually shares with Michael, nudging his thighs apart gently and settling between them.

There are any number of spare bedrooms in Di Angeles' house, all of which would have been suitable for what they have planned. But the thought of being with Dean here, in the room where Michael laid his own claim so many years ago, fills Castiel with such a sense of freedom, there's no way he can pass up on the chance to experience it.

He thinks maybe Dean understands, or at least has an idea of what it means to him; after all, he passed by the half dozen or so other rooms it took to get to this one without question.

Wrapping his legs around Dean's back, Castiel pulls the other man closer to him, moaning when Dean claims his mouth in a heated kiss. Dean rocks his hips languidly, in time with the slow fucking of his tongue, and clasps both of Castiel's wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head.

"Fuck Cas…" Dean leans back to look down at the other man in awe, so beautifully splayed out and exposed for his pleasure.

Dean can't remember the last time he had the chance to take his time with Castiel, to touch and tease and taste all those areas that get neglected in their usual hasty moments of snatched pleasure. Too many of their encounters have been hurried fumbles in dark corners, the odd fuck on the backseat of the impala or occasionally Dean's apartment. Recently, even those opportunities have been rare.

But now he's got his chance, he's got the time to take Castiel apart piece by piece… he can't decide where to start.

He grins and leans down to steal another kiss. He can't imagine a more pleasant dilemma.

(***)

Nearly an hour later, Castiel is convinced he's actually going to explode if he doesn't get to come soon.

Dean has spent the time meticulously relearning every inch of Castiel's body, finding half-remembered pressure points and discovering a whole host of new ones. From the tips of his toes right up to his hair line, every stretch of skin has been subjected to the same systematic brush of Dean's fingers, the drag of his lips and swirl of his tongue, until Castiel is practically insensible with arousal.

"Dean…" he groans, "If you don't fuck me right now… I swear to God…"

"What Cas?" Dean's voice is hot velvet right against his ear, "What will you do?"

Castiel isn't really in a position to follow through on any threats, so instead resorts to begging.

"Please Dean… I just, I need you so much," his throat is already raw from moaning, the low rough sound sends shivers up Dean's spine.

"Ok Cas…" he breathes, "Whatever you need."

At Castiel's direction, Dean reaches over to retrieve a tube of lube from a bedside drawer. He locates it between a couple of magazines and a pair of old reading glasses, but when he pulls out the half-empty bottle, Dean is suddenly drawn up short.

Of course it shouldn't surprise him, but the sight has his stomach twisting unpleasantly at the unwelcome thought of when it was last used.

Though possessive by nature, Dean has always avoided thinking of Castiel like that; after all, he's the one in the wrong here, touching something he shouldn't. And he so rarely sees Castiel with Michael anyway, the other man not one for public displays; it's almost too easy to forget that Castiel is intimate with the other man.

But this one little reminder has Dean burning with a fierce jealousy. A deep covetous anger that Castiel has been touched by someone else, had someone else inside of him. He barely notices he his shaking until Castiel's hand on his pulls him back to himself.

Castiel takes the tube from his fingers, and pulls him back to cover Castiel's body. His blue eyes are wide and knowing when he smiles softly and tugs Dean down to murmur in his ear.

"There's only you, Dean… in all the ways that matter, there's only you."

Swallowing heavily at the emotion behind those words, Dean presses his lips to the other man's, and tries to force all offensive thoughts away, unearthing instead his earlier intentions, and the sweet anticipation he has been building. He sighs resignedly.

"I know."

He shifts his weight to rest at Castiel's side. Tossing the lube away from them, he instead brings his fingers to his mouth, parting his lips and taking them in to coat with his own saliva. Castiel's eyes follow the motion, darkening in approval.

His momentary discontent now forgotten, Dean holds Castiel's gaze, making a show of twirling his tongue around his fingers. When he is satisfied, he nuzzles into Castiel's throat and brings his slick fingers down to prepare the other man slowly. By the time he has three fingers buried in Castiel's ass, they are both painfully aroused again, desperate for relief.

"Now Dean… please… God I want you so bad…" Castiel's eyes are screwed shut, his hands clenched tightly into the sheets.

Easing his fingers free, Dean settles over Castiel, and lines himself up, the blunt head of his cock nudging Castiel's entrance and drawing a low whine from his lips. Dean pushes forward, slowly but steadily, inch after inch swallowed by suffocating heat until he is fully sheathed.

"Fuck…oh, fuck…" Dean gasps into Castiel's skin, burying his face into his shoulder as he waits for Castiel to adjust, trembling with the urge to move.

Dean knows he won't last long. Castiel's so fucking tight, and the sight of him writhing and desperate could probably make Dean come on its own.

At the signal from Castiel, Dean begins to move, aiming straight for the spot he knows will have Castiel seeing stars, his only thought to hold himself in check long enough to bring the other man off too.

They move together in desperation, a tangled frenzy of limbs with no rhythm or finesse. Dean pounds Castiel's willing body, the other man surging up to meet each thrust with a choked off gasp each time their flesh joins.

Dean's so fucking close, he reaches down and grasps Castiel's weeping cock, and that's all it takes before Castiel is tensing up and coming between them. He cries out in ecstasy, his release spreading scalding hot come between their chests; his muscles clamp down on Dean's dick, and it's enough to have the other man follow him over the edge.

Dean grunts into Castiel's skin as he rides out each rolling wave of bliss, then captures his mouth, breathing his pleasured moans into the other man.

They hold each other until Dean's softening cock slips free, and he forces himself to roll to one side to prevent crushing the other man. He gathers Castiel to him, their legs twining together as come and sweat cool on their skin.

"Stay?" Castiel mumbles, already falling asleep nestled into Dean's chest.

Dean doesn't know when Michael is due back, just that he has to be cleaned up and long gone by then. But the thought of a few hours' sleep with Castiel in his arms is just too tempting to pass up.

He pulls the covers over them both, wrapping them up in a cocoon of hot skin and soft blankets.

He presses his lips to Castiel's hair with a soft sigh and lets his heavy lids fall shut.

A few hours' sleep can't hurt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Whoa get on me with the speedy update! Thank you bank holidays!**

* * *

><p>The first thing Dean registers when he wakes, is the telling strain in his muscles indicating an evening spent in pleasant exertion. He shifts slightly, feeling an agreeable pull in his buttocks and smiles into the silky goose down pillow beneath his face. His sleep muddled brain conjures up a satisfying couple of hours spent parked up at the reservoir, Castiel spread out on the Impala's backseat. Dean sighs and wonders how late he got back to his apartment-<p>

Hang on… goose down?

Other details hit him all at once- the warm solid weight plastered against his back… the steady breathing stirring the short hairs at the nape of his neck... the bright sunlight filtering through the curtains and slanting across his face…

He sits up with a start, memories of the previous night flooding back to him. His eyes land on Castiel's still sleeping form, before scanning anxiously and stopping on the ornate carved oak mantel clock. His stomach tightens in cold panic.

12:30pm. Fuck.

"Cas, wake up."

Castiel opens bleary eyes as he is shaken roughly awake.

"Dean… what's going on?" His voice is thick with sleep, lower than usual and practically unintelligible. Suddenly he finds his focus and his eyes widen in horror. "Is Michael here?"

"Not yet he isn't," Dean is searching the room urgently for his clothes, before remembering they're probably all still downstairs. "But it's after lunch, and he never said when he would be back."

Racing down the stairs, Dean bolts into the drawing room, skidding to a stop when he takes in the mess they'd left behind. He curses loudly as he looks at the clothes strewn around the room, buttons from Castiel's shirt making tell-tale markers in every corner. He has just struggled into his boxers and is busy searching out his shirt, when a loud ringing echoes through the house.

Dean's heart literally jumps into his throat, as he pictures Uriel or one of the others waiting outside. Shit. He freezes, rooted to the spot, unsure if he should keep dressing or hide under the couch.

It is only when the trilling noise sounds again, he realises it is not the door bell, but the telephone.

The sound is cut short, and Dean hears the deep rumble of Castiel speaking upstairs. He speedily locates the rest of his clothes, pulling them on and gathering up Castiel's.

As he starts back up the stairs, he can just make out one side of the conversation.

"… Of course I understand Michael… thank you yes, the show was magnificent… yes Dean accompanied me…"

He comes into the bedroom to see Castiel sat on the edge of the bed, the sheet wrapped around his waist and the phone tucked against his shoulder.

Castiel glances up to him, a small smile lighting his face as he raises a finger to his lips.

"It can't be helped Michael, I know that… don't worry, I can keep myself occupied…"

Dean seats himself carefully on the bed, raising an eyebrow to Castiel. The other man shakes his head slightly, one hand snaking into Dean's and threading their fingers together.

"I know you must… yes I will… you too, goodbye."

Dean is about to ask what's going on, but he words are trapped in his throat when he finds himself on his back, pinned to the bed by a naked Castiel, whilst the other man kisses him eagerly.

"What did he say?" Dean gasps as soon as Castiel lets him up for air. Castiel just grunts dismissively, attaching his mouth to Dean's neck, quick fingers reopening his shirt.

"Come on Cas…" Dean moans, trying not to be distracted by the tongue now swirling around his nipple. "… what's going on?"

Castiel ignores him, moving across to lavish attention on the other side, nipping gently at the nub of red-brown skin.

"Cas!" Dean mutters sharply, tugging on the other man's hair, fixing him with a stern glare.

Castiel lifts his head up with a huff, narrowing his eyes in irritation.

"Tell me what he said," Dean orders.

Castiel rolls his eyes, pushing himself upright and straddling Dean's hips.

"He said he's in Chicago as a character witness for Balthazar's trial, but as it's been postponed until Monday, there's no point travelling all the way back, so he's going to stay there until then, ok?" Castiel's eyes twinkle as he forces himself to keep a straight face. "Now can I get back to what I was doing?"

Castiel leans forwards again, but Dean catches him halfway, forcing the man to look at him.

"He's not coming back until Monday…" a slow smile spreads across Dean's face as he does the math. "Four days… he's not coming back for four days… are you freaking kidding me?" he grins, rolling Castiel over as the other man nods giddily, and leans down to kiss him hungrily.

"No I'm not," Castiel laughs breathlessly when Dean finally releases him, "So hurry up and get naked so you can fuck me senseless."

Castiel's excitement is infectious; Dean finds himself chuckling like a teenager as he wriggles out of his boxer shorts and dives on top of the other man, pulling the covers over their heads.

Like he needs telling twice.

(***)

Compared to their usual meetings, four days is a lifetime. But it quickly becomes apparent that even that is not enough.

"I wish you didn't have to go, Dean," Castiel is lying on the bed, sprawled naked on his back and covered in come, watching as Dean pulls his clothes on.

"Don't, Cas." Dean fastens his belt and turns around, groaning at the sight of the other man idly displaying himself.

He'd give anything right now to strip down, crawl into bed and lose himself again in Castiel's body.

Four days they've had together, four days in which they've barely left the bed- taking each other again and again, eating takeout straight from the cartons, sleeping in each other's arms for a few hours only to wake and do it all again.

Dean's never been in a real relationship; even before Castiel he was more of a 'love 'em and leave 'em' kind of guy, not one to do repeat performances. Domesticity was not something he had ever had any inclination towards, but still, he can't help thinking if he had met Castiel in another lifetime, maybe this is something they would have had- lazy weekends and holidays spent hiding from the world, passing the time for the sake of it in the pleasure of each other's bodies.

For four days now they've kidded themselves that nothing exists outside the musky confines of this room, but as it does, the clock has run out and reality has caught up to them, now all they can do is be grateful for their brief spell, and try not to despair too much at its passing.

Castiel pulls the blankets up around him and pouts, an expression that looks so ridiculous on a grown man, Dean is forced to laugh.

"Come on," Dean grabs the other man's hands and hauls him to his feet, drawing his sheet clad form into his arms and holding him there.

Despite Castiel's groan of protest, he melts into Dean's chest and wraps his arms firmly around his waist. They hold each other tightly, trying to savour every last second, unsure how long it will be before they have this again. Dean rubs his cheek softly against Castiel's hair, trailing his fingers up and down the shape of his spine.

"Dean… I…" Castiel's voice is small and shaky when he speaks from somewhere beneath Dean's chin.

"Don't Cas." Dean repeats, unable to handle any talk of feelings right now, not when his emotions are so raw.

He feels like he has been given a glimpse of something perfect in these few days, a peek at a wonderful treasure that will never be his. And now he has to walk away from it. Again. It feels like all he ever does is walk away from Cas, never knowing if this time will be the last, maybe this time he won't find his way back.

"No Dean," Castiel lifts his head and stares defiantly into his eyes, determined to speak his mind. "I have to say this… these past few days have been just perfect. And I know we don't… what I mean, we can't…" Castiel pauses and takes a deep breath, his eyed bright and intent. "I know we can't ever have any more than this… but I just want you to know, I have never been happier in my life, than I am when I'm with you."

Dean swallows at what he knows goes unsaid. The things they've promised they will never say, but Dean hears them anyway.

Never one for speeches, Dean cups Castiel's face and kisses him fiercely in reply.

Castiel understands every word.

(***)

It's nearly midnight when Castiel hears the front door open downstairs, and the soft slap of Michael's shoes in the hallway.

He knew he would have to face him sooner or later, but the cowardly part of Castiel had hoped the other man would return later at night, when he could have feigned sleep and put off the reunion until tomorrow.

He's checked and double-checked and triple-checked the house for any signs of Dean's stay- there's nothing to be found, the sheets have been cleaned dried and put away, the garbage emptied and the floors swept. Still, Castiel feels like Michael will take one look at his face and know; like the scent of Dean will be imprinted on his skin, the taste ingrained in his lips.

The bedroom door opens, and Michael stands in the doorway, watching Castiel for a moment whilst the man pretends to read the book held in front of him, not taking in a single word. Eventually Castiel looks up, forcing a smile for his lover.

"Hello Michael," he murmurs, closing his book and placing it on the bedside table. Michael looks pristine as always, despite the twelve hour drive.

"Castiel," the other man smiles moving into the room, his grey eyes fixed on Castiel with their usual intensity. Castiel is glad Michael has always chosen to use his full name rather than the shortened version; Cas is Dean's.

"How was your journey?" Castiel turns his face up to accept the light kiss from Michael before the man moves to remove his suit jacket, carefully hanging it in the wardrobe.

"Long," Michael laughs gently, "And Uriel is poor company."

He comes to stand at the side of the bed; Castiel understands what he wants and kneels up to unbutton Michael's shirt, pulling it free from his suit pants and loosening the cuffs.

"But you are home now," he smiles, swallowing the lump in his throat as Michael takes hold of his face, leaning down to kiss him on the mouth. Michael pulls back and runs a thumb over Castiel's bottom lip.

"Yes," he shrugs his shirt off, revealing a torso still toned and only just showing the first signs of age. He unfastens his pants, allowing them to drop to the floor, and forces Castiel to scoot backwards as he slides onto the bed. Castiel gulps when Michael grasps his fingers and brings them to cup his growing erection. "And I have missed you more than I can say."

Castiel trembles slightly as Michael slips his hands under his tee, lightly stroking the smooth skin of his stomach before lifting his arms and tugging the garment over his head. He pushes Castiel back into the bed, sealing their lips together and shoving his tongue deep into Castiel's mouth.

Clumsy hands paw at his body and Castiel holds back a whimper as sharp fingers dig into his flesh, tweaking his nipples painfully. Michael rolls onto his back pulling the other man with him; Castiel draws a shuddering breath, feeling a strong hand on his shoulder pushing him unrelentingly down under the covers. His stomach clenches painfully and he tries to push away the feeling of wrongness as Michael's voice rumbles out commandingly,

"Now show me how much you have missed me."

* * *

><p><strong>So... hands up who thought Michael was going to catch them at it already? Nah, not yet, I'm having too much fun writing them!<strong>

**I dont really want to press for reviews, but if anyone could give me a hint of how I'm doing, or any pointers for improvements that would be awesome (if there's anyone reading that is!)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Ask and you shall receive…**

**Rest assured I will be covering all the background info – I didn't want to devote entire chapters to flashbacks, so it'll be slotting bits in wherever I feel they fit**

* * *

><p>A week after his stolen weekend with Dean, Castiel wakes up one morning surprised to find the space normally occupied by Michael's sleeping bulk, unexpectedly empty. The crumpled sheets bear no evidence of the heat from their previous inhabitant's body, suggesting they have been vacant for some time- Castiel props himself up on one elbow and looks around the room in confusion.<p>

"Michael?"

Habitual early risers, Castiel and Michael have long maintained the morning ritual of coffee shared over the daily newspapers, Michael carefully studying the business sections whilst Castiel peruses the arts. Michael likes to discuss any issues of note- unusual fluctuations in the stock market or the changing fortunes of a particular company; Castiel has learned enough to make the appropriate responses as Michael wishes, but the subject really holds no interest for him.

It's unusual though for Michael to skip out on this.

Hearing no reply, Castiel lies back for a moment with a small frown, wondering what the other man is doing. He stretches out and pushes his limbs into the pleasantly cool corners of the mattress, staring at the ceiling and contemplating more sleep, but the soft glow at the crack in the curtains tells him it's probably too late to try.

With a yawn, Castiel levers himself to his feet and heads downstairs in search of coffee. Trudging into the kitchen bleary eyed, he clicks on the coffee maker and has just opened the cupboard to reach for two mugs when the sound of murmuring catches his attention.

He'd passed the closed door to Michael's study on the way to the kitchen and thought nothing of it, but realising the man is in there, he finds himself padding softly in that direction, curious as to whom Michael could be speaking to this early in the morning.

Shivering slightly in the in the chilly hallway clad only in his sleep pants, Castiel listens tentatively at the heavy wooden door. He catches the odd muffled word, but the rest is absorbed by the thick walnut panelling; all Castiel can figure out is that Michael is on the phone to someone… and that he's displeased.

He is just about to turn back for the kitchen when Michael's suddenly raised voice stops him short.

Castiel doesn't think he's ever heard Michael yell, he's always thought the other man's softly spoken threats were much more menacing. But now, hearing that deep voice booming with rage, it's like listening to the thunderous wrath of heaven.

"… One of my men are dead Uriel, and I want the person responsible!..."

The words take a minute to register fully, but when they do, Castiel is suddenly gripped by an icy panic. Bile fills his throat and the world tilts slightly.

_Not Dean… please, not Dean._

His blood rushes in his ears, almost blocking out Michael's voice as he continues speaking.

"… I don't care Uriel, this was no random killing. Virgil has been targeted specifically and I want to know why. You know how important Virgil's expertise was to my plans!.."

Virgil. Castiel lets out a shaky breath. Relief spikes through his veins, and despite the surge of guilt that follows, he can't deny the feeling. He runs one clammy hand through his hair then pinches the bridge of his nose.

"…Well then make him talk!... Fine keep him there, we'll come to you… Do not insult me Uriel, I can be more than persuasive if needs be…"

Castiel's eyes widen at the venom in Michael's tone. He doesn't want to hear any more, so slowly backs away and slips into the kitchen.

His heart is pounding as he sets the cups on the side. He didn't know Virgil well, but he had met him enough times to be shocked by his death. Sometimes it's so easy to forget the world Dean and Michael operate in. He shakes his head trying to clear it, focusing on maintaining a steady hand whilst he pours the coffee. The kitchen door opens and Castiel tenses slightly at the awareness of Michael's presence behind him.

"You could have stayed in bed my love, I would have brought this up."

The change in Michael's tone is miraculous. Two minutes ago he was likely discussing torture methods… and now he sounds like some doting husband in a fifties infomercial. Castiel shivers slightly at the thought that Michael can switch so easily from callous superior to attentive lover.

"I was awake. Thought I may as well get up."

Castiel sets the coffee pot down and turns, now trapped between the kitchen counter and Michael's solid weight. He notes with surprise that the other man is fully dressed, his hair still damp from the shower. When he reaches up to kiss Michael quickly, he tastes the coffee already on the other man's lips, laced with a hint of something stronger.

"What are you doing up so early?"

Michael's expression doesn't flicker.

"Just a little business I have to attend to. I wanted to make an early start."

Castiel nods slowly, turning to pick up one of the mugs and pass it to Michael.

"Well… I'm heading upstairs to shower, come say goodbye before you leave?"

Michael smiles and nods, pressing a light kiss to Castiel's forehead before disappearing back into his study.

Letting out a long sigh, Castiel starts for his bedroom. He hurries across the cold entrance hall and has just reached the foot of the stairs when the doorbell sounds. Unthinking of his state of dress, Castiel stops automatically to open it.

When he sees who is waiting outside, he freezes immediately, eyes widening in surprise.

He seriously wasn't expecting it to be Dean stood breathing puffs of steam in the weak early morning light… but the look on the other man's face at being greeted by a shirtless Castiel is totally priceless.

Castiel bites his lip tracing his eyes carefully over Dean's features, almost amused by the man's startled expression. Dean eventually moulds his face into a picture of polite indifference, but Castiel has known Dean long enough to recognise the slight tick in his jaw and the minute clenching of his fists that say he is holding something back.

"Good morning Dean." Castiel backs into the house, beckoning Dean to follow. He rolls his eyes when he notices how Dean keeps as much distance as possible between them whilst moving past him.

"Mr Novak."

Dean tries to avoid Castiel's stare as he responds, but in keeping his eyes averted, his gaze inadvertently falls on the loose pyjama bottoms hanging precariously low on Castiel's narrow hips, exposing the perfectly delicious v-line leading further down…

Castiel coughs slightly and raises an eyebrow, Dean's eyes snap up and the younger man flushes slightly. He glares accusingly at Castiel, but the man simply shrugs, meeting Dean's gaze evenly with intent blue eyes.

The moment stretches out and Dean's fingers twitch unconsciously; he longs to step forward and run them gently along the soft hairs of Castiel's forearm, to hook his arm around the bare skin of his waist in the light possession of a lover. He folds his arms tightly to his chest as though to shield himself from temptation and scowls at Castiel, wishing the other man would just go and put some damn clothes on.

"Ah Winchester, good, you're here," Michael's voice breaks through the growing tension, the man striding unknowingly out into the hall.

"Sir," Dean nods, visibly pulling himself upright.

Castiel watches his face transform at the appearance of his boss from the minor light-hearted conflict of a moment ago to the hard mask of a soldier. He thinks of Michael's earlier conversation and knows immediately where they are going… and what they are going to do.

He feels a little sick.

"I'll see you this evening," Michael pulls Castiel into a quick embrace, the rough wool of his overcoat scratching Castiel's bare chest.

Over Michael's shoulder Castiel catches Dean's eye, and frowns at the other man's stony expression.

It appears he's not the only one with a role to play when it comes to Michael.

(***)

* * *

><p><em>Ever since he can remember, Castiel has been listening to Zachariah telling stories about Michael Di Angeles and his ruthless, cold-blooded ways. As though fear of Michael will translate to respect for Zachariah just because he works for the man, Zachariah drops comments on Michael's cruel nature and merciless deeds to whoever will listen.<em>

_If the rumours are to be believed, Michael committed his first murder at the age of twelve, when his high school math teacher graded him an undeserved C- on his mid-term._

_Never one to put stock in such outrageous gossip, Castiel has always preferred to reserve judgement on a person or situation until he can make it from his own experience. And when he first meets Michael, the only way he can describe him is as a charming, handsome man, with a good sense of humour and a caring nature._

_The first time they meet is almost three months after Rachel's funeral, and strangely enough, occurs back at the graveside._

_In the intervening time, Zachariah's treatment of his nephew and niece has progressed from carefully controlled neutrality to open hostility. Without Rachel to appease, Zachariah has dropped any pretence of concern for the two children, and made it perfectly clear that their presence in his house is wholly unwelcome. _

_Every day is a minefield. Castiel bears the brunt of Zachariah's anger, most of the snide comments and veiled threats aimed in his direction. But despite trying to spend as much time away from the house as possible, avoiding their uncle knowing they're on shaky ground, the morning Zachariah finds Castiel opening a college acceptance letter marks the end of the man's tolerance. _

_When Castiel comes to sit that afternoon before the newly installed headstone of his aunt, it is with the desperate knowledge that he has been given two months, until his high school graduation, to find the means to support Anna and himself, and "Get the hell out" of Zachariah's life._

_Zachariah had torn up the letter in front of his face, served the eviction notice, and gifted Castiel with a sharp back-hander to clear up any misunderstandings. Castiel and Anna Novak are once again orphans._

_Staring numbly at the freshly carved marble and wondering what on earth he's going to do, the last thing Castiel expects is to find himself face to face with Rachel's illustrious cousin._

"_Castiel… isn't it?"_

_Castiel turns abruptly at the sound of his name to see Michael standing a little way off, holding a bunch of pretty pink dahlias._

_Castiel's eyes widen in shock and he scrambles to his feet, brushing off bits of dried grass and trying to make himself look presentable._

"_Yes… um, Mr Di Angeles. Castiel Novak." He holds out a hand awkwardly, which Michael grasps in a surprisingly warm handshake._

"_Michael, please." He smiles. He gestures to another man Castiel hadn't noticed standing a few feet behind. "And this is an associate of mine, John Winchester."_

_John nods silently and Castiel smiles awkwardly back._

"_You have kept the grave well-tended," Michael indicates the neat space in front of the headstone, bending down to add his offering to the small collection of freshly cut stems Castiel himself had brought._

"_Anna and I pass through here most days from school, we like to make sure it looks nice for Aunt Rach," Castiel fidgets slightly, unsure if he should leave and let the other man pay his respects. "I could go…"_

"_No, don't leave." Michael waves a hand dismissively, "I was just passing through and thought I could stop by to see Rachel." He stares at the grave contemplatively for a moment, "She and I were close when we were young, but we'd grown apart in past years. I regret that now."_

_Castiel remains silent, unsure what to say. Michael ponders the headstone a few moments longer before turning fully to Castiel._

"_Do you need a ride… what happened to your face?"_

_Castiel blinks uncomprehendingly and raises his hand to the still developing bruise across his left cheekbone, he winces as his fingers brush the tender flesh. Realisation dawns, and Castiel struggles blindly for some excuse, unable to say it was Zachariah's means of illustrating a point following that morning's argument. But Michael's sharp eyes narrow, and Castiel gets the feeling that the other man has somehow read his thoughts._

_Michael's lips tighten for a moment as he considers Castiel's silence._

"_Would you like to go for coffee?" he asks abruptly. Castiel is taken aback, confused by the sudden change in subject and bewildered by the idea that Michael Di Angeles would want to spend any time with him. He doesn't feel able to refuse though, so after a brief pause he nods in acceptance. _

_(***)_

_John drives them to a coffee shop Castiel has never seen before, then waits in the car while he and Michael go inside. The atmosphere is warm and pleasant and Castiel finds himself relaxing into the comfortable booth, enjoying the elaborate concoction Michael orders for him._

_The bruise is not mentioned, and Michael turns out to be excellent company- making Castiel laugh and encouraging him to talk more than he has in a long time. Castiel has never been much of a social creature, the only person he's really comfortable with since the death of his aunt is his sister, but Michael's unexpectedly soothing presence sets him quite at ease._

_Castiel never plans to tell Michael about Zachariah's kicking them out, but when the other man asks about his college plans he chokes up, unprepared for the question. _

_If asked yesterday, he would have eagerly explained his passion for art and plans to major in History of Art with his ultimate goal to curate at a gallery, or possibly open his own. But today… well obviously all those plans are out the window now. He turns wide eyes to Michael, knowing he's going to be unable to lie to the man._

_Michael reaches over the table and lays a reassuring hand on Castiel's arm._

"_Please tell me what's bothering you."_

_Castiel looks down at the strong fingers gripping his slim wrist and glances back to the concerned gaze fixed on him. _

_He cant help it. Without thought for the consequence, Castiel gets caught up in the offer of a comforting shoulder, and a caring adult to share his burden. _

_He tells Michael everything._

_(***)_

_Two days later Zachariah comes into Castiel's room, a sullen expression on his face and his arm encased in plaster. Castiel looks up in surprise, mouth opening to ask what has happened._

_"Anything else you need, please don't hesitate to ask." Zachariah forestalls him, spitting the words and dropping a slip of paper into Castiel's lap before storming back out. Castiel stares at his retreating back in confusion, before looking down to retrieve the item._

_It's a cheque for his college fee._

_(***)_

_Anna is the who puts the pieces together before Castiel._

"_You really think Michael Di Angeles would go to the effort of threatening Uncle Zach just to get him to pay my college fees?" Castiel huffs incredulously._

"_How else would you explain it?" Anna shrugs, "I told you he was looking at you funny at the funeral."_

_Castiel dismisses the idea with a wave of his hand. Its a preposterous notion, that a man he barely knows would go to such effort for him. But Michael's parting words to him keep repeating; "Don't be worried Castiel, I'm sure it will work out." And he can't help the niggling thought that maybe Michael _has_ got something to do with Zachariah's change of heart… and the broken arm._

"_I'll tell you this though," Anna warns, "That man doesn't do things for nothing. Remember that Cassie… and be careful."_

_Castiek should have realised then just how right she was._

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the delay on this update, I was aiming for less than a week on all chapters, but things got a little on top of me! Might be a bit of a gap until the next one too while I finish off some assignments, but I'll try not to leave it too long<strong>

**Oh, and for anyone wondering what Michael looks like – think Michael Corleone in the final scene of The Godfather Part I **


	7. Chapter 7

Dean can't believe he ever thought this lifestyle was glamorous.

He grimaces as he uses a water bottle to swill the blood from his hands, drying them on a rag and tossing it in the tarp along with the body.

"What are you going to do with it?" Dean asks Uriel, watching him tuck the heavy canvas around the corpse and secure it with a roll of duct tape.

"Landfill," the other man grunts, eloquent as ever.

Michael looks on expressionlessly as the two men wrestle the stiff into the trunk of Uriel's car, the arduous task made more awkward by the leaden weight and early onset rigor mortis. Michael appears poised and impassive like always, but Dean gets the impression it's the kind of calm you see right before a hurricane hits.

"So, that was our only lead." Michael begins dryly once Uriel has finally managed to secure the lid.

Dean watches from the corner of his eye as Uriel visibly tenses, turning slowly to meet Michael's sharp gaze.

"We'll get the name another way." The large man mutters quietly, fingers clenched tightly at his sides and jaw set in rigid defensiveness.

He's screwed up. He knows it. Dean knows it. And Michael knows it.

"I believe we had only one lead Uriel. And he currently has a bullet lodged in his brain."

"He was just some hired gun," Uriel sneers, "He couldn't tell you anything worthwhile, he didn't even know who hired him."

"Well I'm glad you're so certain of that." Michael intones coolly, "But I would have rather liked to determine the man's usefulness for myself."

Dean struggles to keep the smirk from his face as he follows the exchange with barely disguised interest. There's never been any love lost between himself and Uriel- the smug prick has always spoken to him like shit, treating him like a lower class citizen for not being 'one of the family'. After years of biting his tongue because the guy is Michael's cousin, Dean can't deny he'd quite enjoy watching him get taken down a peg or two.

"Don't blame this on me Michael," Uriel puffs his chest out, standing upright and glaring challengingly at Michael. "You asked me to find the man who shot Virgil- I found him. How was I to know he was just a shooter with no idea who signed his paycheque?"

"That is irrelevant Uriel, and you know it. The point is, I expressly instructed you to hold this man in your custody until I arrived, and you disobeyed…"

"The man was obviously much stronger than I had anticipated; he broke free of his restraints and came at me. I did what I had to," Uriel spits.

Michael's eyes narrow dangerously, "I gave you an order…"

"And I was forced to ignore it, crying over it isn't going to change that." Uriel shakes his head in disgust, "I don't need to stand here listening to this."

Uriel begins to march to the front of his car, leaving Dean and Michael in his wake. Dean's eyes widen in astonishment and he looks to Michael questioningly. The man nods almost imperceptibly, and before Uriel has seen it coming, Dean has him face down on the hood of the car, arm twisted so far up his back the bone practically creaks.

"I don't think Mr Di Angeles was quite done talking to you." Dean hisses, ignoring the thrashes and cursing of the larger man. Uriel might have a good fifty pounds or more on Dean, but he is more than capable of applying the right amount of pressure in the right place to render him more or less helpless.

"Do not forget yourself Uriel," Michael murmurs softly, stepping close to the other man. "You may be family, but do not presume I will accept that kind of insolence from you any more than anyone else. You know me Uriel- you know what I am capable of."

Uriel stills at this, desisting from his struggles and remaining unresisting in Dean's hold. "Now I want you to listen to me very carefully," Michael continues, low and hypnotic. "Somebody hired that man, and I want to know who. Since our best chance of finding that person is sadly deceased, you're going to have to get a bit smarter… do you think you can manage that?"

Uriel lets out a low grunt, cheek pressed tight to the dusty paintwork of his car and nods his head awkwardly.

"Good." Michael carries on speaking in a calm, almost sing-song voice. "I want you to trace every move that man has made in the last month. I want telephone records, I want grocery receipts. I want to know every person he came into contact with… if he's fucked the neighbour's babysitter I want to know what positions and how many times- do you understand?"

"Yes." Uriel's mumbled reply is barely audible.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that." Michael indicates to Dean who hauls Uriel upright, releasing his arm and instead pressing a gun to his temple.

"Yes Michael." Uriel replies with a little more volume.

"Virgil's death has caused me a considerable amount of inconvenience Uriel… and I don't like to be inconvenienced." Michael moves so he is right in front of the other man, tall enough to look him squarely in the eye. "Whoever arranged that killing has been in contact with this man recently- he is the key. You follow our hit man's movements; they will lead you directly to the person responsible."

"Consider it done." Uriel utters lowly. Michael considers him for a moment before nodding slightly, indicating for Dean to stand down.

Dean releases the man and Uriel rolls his shoulders to speed the blood flow back to his arms. He turns and fixes Dean with a menacing glower, but Dean simply shrugs and grins back.

"Make sure it is." Michael begins to walk back to his own car, effectively dismissing the other man.

Just before he slides into the passenger seat, Michael pauses, hand on the doorframe and calls out as though on an afterthought,

"Oh, and Uriel?"

The other man stops and turns, "Yes Michael?"

Michael's lips curve into the honey sweet smile of a serpent eyeing its prey. His voice drops, but the quiet words carry easily across the space, chilling in their cheeriness. "You ever show me that kind of disrespect again; I'll make sure not even your pretty little wife recognises your face. Do you understand?"

Uriel's eyes widen slightly at the dual threat, throat working furiously.

"Of course, Michael."

"Excellent." Michael smiles benignly and slips into the car. "Let's go Dean."

(***)

"Something is happening here," Michael mutters fifteen minutes into their trip back from the warehouse. "Something is going on, and I don't like it."

Dean waits for him to elaborate, unsure what he is referring to, but the man lapses back into silence and he carries on driving.

Eventually when he speaks again, his words make Dean's blood freeze in his veins.

"I've always believed loyalty is something to be valued above all other things."

The words are softly spoken and Dean has no idea of their intent. Is Michael just talking in the abstract, or is this a build up to the revelation that he knows about the affair, and is about to kill Dean out here in the middle of nowhere? Michael turns to the other man, and he feels his gaze like a laser beam to the side of the head. "Wouldn't you agree Dean?"

_He knows. Fuck… he knows._

Dean feels like he has swallowed a bucketful of ice, his gut clenches in panic, and he struggles to resist the urge to bail out of the moving car.

"Yes Sir," his voice comes out remarkably more composed that he feels, "Of course."

"Your father was always a loyal man," Michael redirects his gaze back out of the window. He is quiet for a moment and Dean risks a glimpse across. "And you Dean… you have always been loyal to me, have you not?"

The heart-stopping fear is back.

"Yes."

He hopes that word didn't sound as much like a question out loud as it did in his own head.

"Yes," Michael muses, "You have."

Dean holds his breath, waiting to see if there is more.

"Changes are coming, I feel," Michael continues ominously. "I will need people around me I can trust." He turns to face Dean again, waiting expectantly.

"You can trust me Sir."

The words burn Dean' throat on the way out and he feels like the world's biggest fraud saying them, though he knows as far as business is concerned they are true.

"I know Dean," Michael settles back into his seat, he smiles that paternal smile that always makes Dean cringe with unworthiness. "I trust you."

(***)

They are almost back at the house when Michael suddenly decides he wants to go to the club instead.

The club is one of the Di Angeles family's oldest and most steadfast businesses. Opened around the time of the prohibition and aptly named 'Heaven', it's been used over the years for laundering, trafficking, soliciting… it's been closed and reopened countless times, but now under Michael's clever administration, is practically legal and basically untouchable.

Built like fort Knox, it's a convenient place for Michael to use as a base to manage his empire.

Dean isn't quite sure what has Michael so riled, but it appears he is reading more into Virgil's death that Dean would have thought it warranted. As soon as they return from their meeting with Uriel, he is in contact with his higher ranking subordinates arranging a gathering for that night.

"Make sure we are not disturbed."

Dean receives the firm instruction when the small group of men have arrived and been ushered through to Michael's office. He nods and perches himself at the end of the bar, a spot which blocks the entrance to the backroom whilst offering a good view of all the exits.

"Looks like it's going to be a long night," Dean looks up as the young barman pushes a glass of whiskey across to him and nods towards the office.

"Hmm," Dean grunts non-committaly, taking a mouthful of the scotch and rolling it around his mouth. He recognises the guy as the driver who took Castiel and him to the theatre the previous week and smirks slightly, "Doing a spot of moonlighting are we Adam?"

The kid scowls. "When I started working for Mr Di Angeles, I thought it would be more exciting. So far I've driven his car, served at his club, and picked up his dry-cleaning."

"Been there, done that- all admirable tasks," Dean laughs lightly, recognising his own early enthusiasm in the guy's frustration. It reminds him of a simpler time, when all he had to concern himself with was following Michael's bidding- when he idea of disloyalty to Michael was a notion he would have laughed at.

He sighs resignedly, thinking of Di Angeles' earlier words on loyalty and wondering where they had stemmed from. Dean wants so badly to be the person his boss thinks he is- the person his father had brought him up to be. He would never have expected himself to be the dishonourable type… but that was before he knew the ache of deprivation that could prompt certain betrayal… before he had tasted the sweet reward waiting behind each act of indiscretion… before Castiel.

As though his thoughts have conjured up the other man's presence, Adam draws his attention from his brewing melancholy.

"Hey look, it's the little woman."

Dean looks up in confusion and follows Adam's line of sight until his eyes land on Castiel descending the stairs into the club.

His heart thumps unevenly when Castiel looks up and their gazes lock. His dark mood instantly evaporates and he feels suddenly lighter, a warm flush tingling in his chest as the other man's eyes crinkle and his lips twitch with a small smile.

Dean is watching Castiel approach when Adam's words suddenly register and he frowns, turning to fix the guy with a sharp glare.

"I'd watch what I say if I were you," he growls.

Adam looks a little taken back by Dean's sudden hostility, his brow creasing in confusion. Dean mentally shakes himself and struggles to straighten his expression. "I mean…well, you don't want Mr Di Angeles to hear you say things like that," he continues with a small shrug.

This seems to mollify him, and Adam smiles gratefully at Dean, "Oh… yeah man, sure thing."

Dean's eyes involuntarily return to Castiel, the other man sliding onto a stool further down the bar.

"Mr Novak," Dean nods in greeting, "Mr Di Angeles is in a meeting at the moment, is he expecting you?"

"Dean," Castiel inclines his head, "Michael said he would be here all evening and asked me to join him. If he's busy though I don't want to disturb him. I'll just wait here… if that's ok?"

Adam takes down one of the top-shelf bottles of whiskey, better than the stuff he'd poured for Dean, and prepares Castiel's drink. He takes it with a smile, and Dean finds himself staring helplessly at the fluid motion of Castiel's throat as he takes a deep swig.

"Sure," he sighs, wondering how long he can keep up this constant torture before one day he just snaps. "Why not?"

(***)

* * *

><p><em>The first time Dean meets Castiel, he thinks he's a dick.<em>

_Ok, so his first thought is actually "Holy fuck he's hot"… but whatever- "What a dick" definitely features in there at some point._

_Dean is cleaning glasses behind the bar in Heaven, when he looks up to find possibly the most beautiful guy he's ever seen heading towards him. _

_His eyes widen as they travel appreciatively over the dark fitted jeans and navy button-down, perfectly highlighting the guy's lean form- the open top buttons reveal a glimpse of creamy white skin, leading up to the elegant curve of his long neck. He looks around Dean's age, maybe a little older, the light dusting of stubble across the sharp jawline and tastefully mussed hair give the impression he's just left the bed of a lover. And his lips…damn…_

_In short- if Dean was a fifteen year old girl, he'd be swooning right now and pressing a damp cloth to his brow._

"_Hey gorgeous," Dean musters his best 'come hither' smirk, blatantly looking the guy up and down as he takes a seat at the bar. "What can I do you for?"_

_Dean finds himself looking into a pair of startled blue eyes as the man meets his gaze._

_The blush that heats his cheeks is just freaking adorable and Dean finds himself entranced by the slow creeping pink beneath his pale skin._

"_Excuse me?"_

_The guy's wide-eyed innocence is just too fucking perfect._

_Oh man, this is too good. He's either a terrific actor or he actually has no clue just how hot he is. Dean's always had a thing for shy guys, there's just something about being the one to tease someone out of their shell._

"_I'm Dean," Dean reaches over the bar, offering his hand. The man looks at it warily for a moment, head tilted in confusion before eventually grasping it._

"_Castiel." He murmurs, glancing at Dean from beneath his eyelashes before looking immediately back down._

_Dean raises an eyebrow at the unusual name, but does not comment._

"_Well Castiel, what can I get for you?"_

_Castiel finds himself staring at the barman's mouth a little too intently, engrossed in the way his perfectly bowed lips curve around his name._

_His cheeks redden anew when he realises he is gawping and the guy is waiting for an answer. He shakes his head a little, flustered, and indicates the first thing he spots behind the bar- the expensive whiskey Michael usually orders for him._

"_A man who appreciates a good scotch… I like it," Dean smiles cheekily._

_He turns to take the bottle down from the top shelf and Castiel's gaze is immediately drawn to smooth strip of skin revealed when he stretches. His breath hitches slightly and he feels an unfamiliar warmth swirling in his gut._

"_You want me to start you a tab?" Dean presents him with his drink, propping his elbows on the bar and leaning forwards slightly._

_Castiel takes a slow sip, buying a moment to compose himself._

"_That won't be necessary."_

"_Well that's a pity Cas… I was hoping you were going to stick around a while, maybe we could get to know each other a little better…"_

_Castiel's eyes widen at the low seductive tone, his eyes flicking up to meet the green eyes twinkling back at him. It never ceases to amaze him when guys flirt with him, he can never understand what it is they find attractive._

_He finds himself smiling a little at the shortening of his name before suddenly catching himself._

_No. He needs to stop this right now. There's no such thing as harmless flirting where Michael is concerned._

_The last time Michael judged someone to be showing Castiel more attention than was appropriate, Castiel had been forced to watch as the man was dragged outside and beaten to a bloody pulp by three of Michael's men. As far as he knows, the guy never walked again._

"_I don't think so." He mutters, forcing his features back into his usual stoic expression and pulling himself upright._

_Dean watches in surprise as the other man suddenly closes himself off, as if abruptly realising he has somewhere to be._

"_Okaaay…" Dean frowns in confusion, staring at his profile. His lips twist slightly, unwilling to give up, and tries to open another avenue of conversation. "So, what brings you here tonight then?"_

_Castiel glances back to him, but the spark from before has completely disappeared._

"_I'm here to see the owner."_

_Dean brightens a little, "Mr Di Angeles? Cool, are you working for him too?"_

_Castiel sighs and turns to look Dean directly in the eye._

"_Actually I'm sleeping with him."_

_Dean almost chokes at the other man's unexpected words. His eyes widen in surprise and he stares open mouthed. _

"_You're the hooker?"_

_Dean regrets the words the instant they're out of his mouth. He doesn't mean to say them out loud, he's just so shocked. He'd thought the other guys were just pulling his leg when they told him Michael was gay and had a male prostitute living with him. _

_Castiel's expression instantly darkens and his knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the bar._

"_I see you have been listening to idle gossip like all the others… how refreshing. God forbid one of Michael's uneducated hicks could actually develop a thought for himself." He hisses._

"_Hang on," Dean flushes at the insult, "I didn't mean…"_

"_Of course you did. You think I don't know what you all say behind my back?" Dean flounders a little in the face of the other man's quiet anger. "Rent boy, gigolo, hooker… I've heard it all before so you can save your breath."_

"_I'm sorry, I wasn't…"_

"_Oh I'm sure you're sorry…. scared I'm going to run to Michael and tell tales are you? Don't worry, you're not worth it."_

_Castiel gets to his feet and draws himself up to his full height, downing his drink and slamming the glass heavily on the bar._

"_You don't know me _Dean_, you don't know anything about me. And I'm sick of having ignorant, small-minded gangster… _wannabes_ looking down their noses at me."_

_Castiel fixes Dean with a final withering stare. "Please tell Michael the atmosphere in the club this evening was… distasteful, and I'll see him at home." _

_Dean watches gobsmacked as the man whirls around and stalks to the exit, head held high. He isn't completely certain what just happened, but he's pretty sure he didn't deserve that whole dressing-down for one little accidental comment._

_He glances around furtively hoping no one had witnessed the incident. Embarrassment tightens his stomach and he huffs indignantly. It's not like he hadn't tried to apologise- it isn't his fault the guy was too stuck up to listen._

_What a dick._

_He ignores the little voice that points out how hurt Castiel had looked at his little slip up, and concentrates instead on glowering over his completely disproportional (in his opinion) chastisement. _

_At least if he can focus on what an ass Castiel was, it'll make it easier to forget his initial attraction._

_Maybe._

_(***)_

_Castiel manages to get all the way out of the club and on to the street before bursting into tears._

_Adrenaline courses though his veins in the aftermath of the dispute, and he leans against a wall, pressing his face into trembling fingers._

_Exploding like that is not something he's ever done before; conflict just isn't in his nature. But sometimes he just gets so tired of being judged by people who don't know anything about him. _

_Breathing deeply, he calms a little and laughs shakily at the thought of Dean's shocked expression- the barman hadn't known what hit him. He starts to feel a little guilty for berating the guy the way he did, to be fair he's heard a lot worse from some of Michael's other men._

_He debates going back inside to apologise, but decides against it; he really doesn't feel like facing anyone just yet. He begins the long walk home, the cool night air settling his nerves and clearing his head and resolves to speak to Dean at the next possible opportunity and express his regret. _

_He tries to tell himself that he's not just looking for an opportunity to speak to the other man again._

* * *

><p><strong>Probably a lot of stuff to fit into one chapter but I wanted to get things moving along. Not one if my favourites I must admit. <strong>

**It's also been drawn to my attention that we've gone a while now without any decent Destiel action… something I plan to rectify ASAP!**

**Thanks again to everyone who's kindly taken the time to review; you have no idea how encouraging all your comments are! Please keep them coming **


	8. Chapter 8

**This is pretty much just self-indulgent smut with minimal plot development. Sue me… I wanted porn**

* * *

><p>After two hours sat at the bar with no sign of Michael, Dean is beginning to flag.<p>

One drink has turned into two… into three… into "Just leave the damn bottle!"

Each glass he empties brings a fresh frown from Castiel and a slight pursing of his lips- which Dean wouldn't be so aware of if he could just keep him eyes off him for five damn minutes… but then the measures of whiskey aren't exactly helping with that.

He can tell Castiel is getting a little anxious. Needlessly in Dean's opinion.

Ok so he might have been known to develop a few boundary issues when he's tipsy… it doesn't matter; he's not drunk. Not really. He knows better than that when he's working. But that's not to say his inhibitions aren't a little looser for the alcohol surging through his system.

It's all Castiel's fault anyway. He's the one who's chosen to sit less than ten feet from Dean, temptation wrapped in a package of innocent blue eyes and stupidly chapped lips. Who's to blame a guy for needing a drink when the object of his fantasies is so close, in arm's reach but ultimately untouchable?

"Hey Dean," Adam interrupts his thoughts breathlessly, ducking under the bar beside him and dropping the cloth from his shoulder into Dean's lap. "Hold the fort for ten minutes man, I'm going to take a quick break."

Dean blinks slowly, frowning at Adam's retreating back, then looks back to the bar area. The small members-only section is empty of customers for the moment.

Not at all unsteadily, he slips from his stool and makes his way to the other side of the bar.

Seeing Castiel sat opposite him, he is struck instantly by the memory of their first meeting, the similar position assaulting him with the strong sense of déjà vu. Unable to resist, he steps in front of the other man, resting his elbows lightly on the bar.

"Hey gorgeous," he murmurs, shit-eating grin sliding into in place.

Castiel's eyes widen in recognition, before scowling as he remembers the rest of that night.

"Don't, Dean." He mutters, glancing around surreptitiously to make sure no one is around.

"You come here often, blue-eyes?" Dean ignores him, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Dean," Castiel warns, but he can't keep the small smile from twitching the corners of his lips. Warmth blossoms in Dean's chest at the sight, he stares at the other man, throat closing suddenly with a sharp yearning.

"You look so hot tonight," Dean's voice changes abruptly from light teasing to blatant desire, dropping lower until it is barely audible. "You know, I want you so much right now."

Castiel's breath catches in his throat, his carefully controlled expression of indifference cracking.

"Dean…"

"Imagine if there was no one else here Cas," Dean continues huskily, the sound travelling no further than the distance between them. "Imagine the things I could do to you."

See? Boundaries.

Though Castiel is not entirely unaffected.

The other man shifts slightly in his seat, eyes darkening in arousal. "What would you do?" he breathes despite himself, the club around them fading from existence.

Dean smirks at Castiel's reluctant encouragement, the growing heat in his veins throbbing pleasantly.

"I'd starting by kissing you just here…"

Dean casually rests his fingertips on the soft skin behind his own ear; he knows how sensitive the other man is there, and how easy it is to turn him to jelly with a few well-placed nips.

"…then I'd run my tongue down your neck…" Castiel shivers lightly, eyes honed in on the slow trailing of Dean's fingers down his throat, "… and lick my way down your chest, just tasting your skin."

Dean licks his lips, getting caught up in his own words; Castiel follows the action and lets out a low involuntary whimper.

"Then I'd start to tease you with my hand, sliding it up your thigh before pressing it against you…" Castiel's eyes fall shut of their own accord and Dean finds himself unconsciously leaning further forwards, entranced by the light flush brightening the other man's skin. Behind the cover of the bar, he presses a palm to the heavy weight of his growing erection, trapped hot and solid against his leg.

"… I'd rub you just like that, my hand on your cock stroking you until you're hard and begging."

Castiel groans low under his breath, brow scrunched in an almost pained expression, like he's concentrating on visualising the picture Dean's painting.

That one small sound and Dean almost loses it.

"Are you hard for me now?" he whispers, voice low and ragged.

Castiel's eyes fly open, nearly black with lust.

The faint nodding of his head almost has Dean throwing himself over the bar and tackling the other man to the ground, consequences be damned.

Dean batters himself mentally in frustration, why the fuck did he think this was a good idea? Working himself up when there's absolutely nothing he can do about it. They stare at each other, both flushed and panting slightly, hard and aching.

Dean wonders if they'd be able to sneak ten minutes in the men's room…

No. No way. Bad idea.

But then… boundaries.

"Cas, do you wanna…"

Of course that would be the moment Michael chooses to emerge from his meeting.

"I'll be back with you in a moment."

At the sound of Di Angeles' voice behind him, Dean snaps upright so fast he practically gives himself whiplash. Both men stare at the open office door in horror, 'caught red-handed' written all over their faces.

Fortunately, Michael is still facing away from them, talking to someone within.

Castiel fidgets in his seat struggling to compose himself; Dean offers a small sheepish smile whilst Castiel glowers back reproachfully.

"Back off," he hisses under his breath. Dean takes note of their fairly close proximity and hurriedly locates himself further down the bar.

When Michael steps out of the office, he looks at Dean for a moment and frowns.

"What are you doing?" he indicates the man's position.

"Sorry boss," Adam skids under the bar at that minute, hurrying back to his post.

"Where have you been?" Michael narrows his eyes.

"I offered to take over for five minutes so he could use the bathroom," Dean jumps in immediately. Adam throws him a grateful look.

"Hmm," Michael looks past the two of them then to see Castiel sat quietly sipping his drink. "Castiel," his face immediately softens and he rounds the bar, heading towards the other man.

Dean slips unobtrusively back into his seat, trying not to watch as Michael cups Castiel's face and kisses him as Dean wanted to do only moments ago. Castiel lets out a small sound of surprise- it isn't like Michael to be so publically affectionate.

"I am sorry to keep you waiting;" Michael smiles ruefully, "This meeting is taking rather longer than I anticipated."

"That's quite alright," Castiel swallows and forces a smile, painfully aware of Dean's eyes on him. "It can't be helped."

Michael runs a hand through Castiel's hair and kisses him again, greedily this time, deep and possessive. Dean tries to ignore the stab of anguish that shoots through him at the sight of their lips joined together.

"I'll most likely be busy for the rest of the night… how about I have Dean take you home now and I'll make it up to you tomorrow?" Michael pulls away eventually and murmurs in his ear.

Castiel's eyes tick automatically to Dean, but the man's eyes are locked on the place where Michael's hand has slipped beneath Castiel's shirt and is rubbing softly at the smooth skin beneath.

"That's really not necessary, Michael," Castiel mutters, feeling wretched at the pained look in Dean's eyes.

"No, but I want to." He kisses him one final time with a murmured goodnight, before moving away and heading back towards his office. "Winchester, I won't be requiring anything more from you this evening. Can you please see that Castiel gets home safely?"

Dean barely manages to meet his boss's eye, the image of his mouth on Castiel seared unbearably into his brain.

"Sure thing," he mutters, "You want to leave now?" He turns to ask Castiel, unable to meet his eye.

Castiel nods, frowning at Dean's expression. "Yes, thank you."

"Let me now when you need me again," Dean glances quickly to Michael, before heading for the exit, not waiting to see if Castiel is behind him.

(***)

"Fuck!" Dean growls through clenched teeth, kicking a dumpster as soon as he is out on the street. "God dammit!"

Jealousy burns hot and vicious through his veins, the noxious virulence he is forced to carry, ready at any moment to rear its ugly head.

You'd think by now he'd be used to it, but if anything it only seems to be getting worse. The deeper he falls into Castiel, the harder the knowledge that he's not really his bites back.

He hears Castiel calling his name from within the club, hurriedly ascending the stairs in pursuit. Bitterly he ignores the sound and starts walking towards the Impala, parked in the far corner of the dim lot.

"Dean, wait up!" Castiel is practically jogging now to catch him. Dean keeps on walking.

"Dean… what's wrong?" Castiel eventually reaches him as he stops at the car, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. "Why did you run off?"

Dean is ready to yell at Cas, to vent his frustration at just having to sit there and watch as he is mauled by another man, but the minute he faces Castiel and sees the concern creasing his brow, his head tilted in that damn stupid endearing way of his, Dean's irritation evaporates.

Impulsively he pulls the other man to him, twisting their bodies and pressing him up against the cold panels of the car, crushing their mouths together.

"Dean…" Castiel huffs, caught unprepared for the suddenness of the attack. Unthinkingly he responds, fingers clutching eagerly at Dean's hair as his mouth opens to the demanding probing of the other man's tongue. Dean pushes harder against him slipping a leg between his thighs and rolling his hips, swallowing Castiel's choked gasp.

As quickly as it starts, it's over. Coming to his senses and remembering where they are, Castiel shoves at Dean, pushing the other man off him and putting some space between their two heaving bodies.

"What are you doing?" he hisses, looking nervously around the thankfully deserted parking lot.

Dean has no answer. All he has is the despair left in the wake of his dissipated envy, and the helpless need to possess, to reaffirm Castiel as his own.

"It's just, you and Michael, Cas… having to watch you two together… its killing me."

It isn't what he intended to say. But the simple words that spill from his lips are probably the most honest Dean has spoken in a long time.

"Oh Dean," Castiel's face crumples in distress; he reaches for the other man reflexively, catching himself at the last minute and dropping his arm abortively. His need to hold the other man itches like a physical pain beneath the skin, his fingers twitch at his sides and he groans in agitation. "Get in the car Dean."

Dean fumbles with the keys, and Castiel's eyes zero in immediately on his unsteady hands.

"How much have you had to drink?" he asks with a frown, pained intensity momentarily forgotten.

"Umm… I don't know. Not too much," Dean shrugs, finally opening the door.

"I'm driving," Castiel snags the keys from his fingers, pushing past him and into the driver's seat. "No point arguing." Castiel silences Dean's protests before he manages to voice them, shooing the other man away and pulling the door closed.

Dean gets into the passenger seat and looks around unimpressed.

"Fine, but you hurt my baby? We're through."

(***)

They've been driving in silence for ten minutes before Dean realises they are headed away from town rather than towards Castiel's home.

"Cas… you do know you're going the wrong way, right?"

Castiel looks at him as though he's being purposefully obtuse.

"We're going to the reservoir." Castiel murmurs quietly.

The spot by the reservoir is one they've been using for years. Away from the main parking lots there is a small dirt track, practically unnoticeable unless you know it's there; which leads to a point less than ten yards from the water's edge, partially obscured by low hanging trees and providing a perfect shelter, isolated from civilisation.

Dean's eyes widen in surprise and his mouth grows suddenly dry.

"You're sure?"

There's no telling how long Michael will be out for, it's likely to be hours, but there's always the risk that he'll come home early and Castiel won't be there.

"I'm sure."

Dean wouldn't ask for it, but Castiel knows he needs reassurance this evening. As much as he'd hate to admit it, he's hurting, and Castiel is prepared to do whatever it takes to fix that. If Michael comes home and finds him absent, he'll just have to think up some excuse and chance the consequences.

Dean sidles closer to Castiel, nuzzling lightly into his throat.

"You're awesome, you know that?"

Castiel moans softly in his throat when Dean's lips press gently to that spot behind his ear. Dean shifts in his seat, finding a better angle to lave at the other man's neck.

"God Dean!" Castiel gasps as a sly hand wanders down to press lightly against his crotch, rubbing tantalisingly at the growing hardness.

"This is what I was talking about before," he murmurs sucking gently on his throat, pulling away just before he leaves a mark.

Castiel's breathing picks up and his eyes flutter closed. Dean chuckles darkly against his ear, and he feels the low rumble of it right down to his toes.

"Eyes on the road Cas," he whispers into his skin, "Remember what I told you about my baby."

Castiel groans and forces himself to focus. They're only a couple of miles away.

"Maybe you should have driven after all."

(***)

The space around them is thick with the heady scent of sex and leather. Condensation beads on the windows, trickling slowly down as the air grows damp with sweat from their bodies and the hot moisture of their mingling breath.

Castiel kneads one hand sharply into Dean's shoulder grasping for purchase, the other hooked around the headrest for leverage as he rocks steadily back and forth. He whimpers softly each time he pulls away empty, letting out a gasp of relief once Dean is fully seated again within him.

"Fuck Cas," Dean's nerves are frayed, body wound tight as he struggles to hold off his orgasm.

The unhurried undulation of Castiel's body has been holding him on the brink for nearly half an hour, the other man's intention seemingly to drive him insane.

The sight he makes is… stimulating to say the least. Head thrown back and spine arched, sweat glistening on his skin and full cock protruding red raw and needy between them.

"Please Cas," he pants, gripping the other man's hips and begging him to bring this to an end.

Finally Castiel relents. His pace quickens, thighs quivering with the effort, movements becoming jerky and unmeasured. Dean pulls him down harder, thrusting up to meet each movement with a low primal sound.

Dean's head falls forward onto Castiel's chest, cursing under his breath as he drives up into Castiel and finally comes with a hoarse growl and full body spasm, pleasure pulsing throughout his body and settling in each of his limbs.

Castiel whines at the loss of pressure as Dean pulls out and coaxes him to lie back on the seat, but mewls in relief when Dean takes his swollen cock between his lips. The angle is awkward, but it doesn't take long before Castiel is tensing up, coming down his throat and collapsing heavily back onto the seat.

Dean manoeuvres them as best he can in the small space, until they find a relatively comfortable position to recover.

(***)

"Maybe we could just run away." Castiel murmurs after a while, voice muffled against the damp skin of Dean's throat.

It's a conversation they're had many a time, always with the same outcome.

"You know he'd find us," Dean mutters, blowing Castiel's hair from where it's tickling his nose. "Plus I can't just leave Sammy."

They both know the only way for them to be together, would be for Michael to die. And whilst Dean's not exactly squeaky clean on the morals front, he's never killed a man in cold blood, and he doesn't intend to start.

"I know," Castiel sighs, pulling back and looking into Dean's eyes. "But I can dream."

They share a long slow kiss, tongues entwining languorously in the cramped confines of the backseat.

"I have to get back," Castiel murmurs against Dean's lips, groaning when the other man just holds him tighter.

"Ten more minutes," Dean breathes, licking his way back into Castiel's mouth. His hand searches out the soft length of Castiel's dick and runs his thumb over the plump oversensitive head. "I'll make it worth your while."

"God," Castiel groans at the excessively intense stimulation, but is unable to prevent himself bucking into Dean's touch. "You're going to be the death of me Dean Winchester."

Dean pulls back and looks at him, an eyebrow raised at his choice of words. He shakes his head and chuckles wryly.

"I sincerely hope not."

(***)

An hour at the reservoir inevitably becomes two, but eventually they are both reluctantly pulling on their clothes, and sliding back into the front seats.

"So… how long do you think it'll be before I see you again?" Castiel aims for nonchalance, but Dean is not fooled.

He pulls the other man to his side as he shifts the car into gear, tucking him under his chin and pressing his lips to his temple.

"I'm not sure Cas," he murmurs. "A week maybe?"

Castiel sighs heavily, nodding resignedly.

"Michael usually goes through the books in the club on a Monday; I might be able to get away for a few hours then." Dean muses, noticing Castiel's dejection.

"That's only four days away," Castiel sits up and smiles hopefully.

"Hey, I'm not promising anything," Dean shrugs, "But I'll do what I can."

"Well if you do manage to find some time, I'll be at the gallery. You could… stop by my office maybe," the look Castiel gives him is almost coy.

"It's a date then," Dean smirks, turning the Impala from the dirt track and back onto the main road.

Neither of them notice the non-descript black car with no headlamps pulling out behind them and speeding off in the opposite direction.

* * *

><p><strong>Ok, so maybe a little plot development<strong>

**Does this count as a cliffhanger? **


	9. Chapter 9

**So sorry for the delayed update people, I'll do my best to be quicker with the next one. Have an extra-long chapter with some more porn thrown in to make up for it!**

* * *

><p>Monday can't come around quick enough for Castiel.<p>

It's stupid to get his hopes up- he knows that… doesn't mean he can help it. All the times he and Dean have arranged to meet and then been unable to as unforeseen events transpire to keep them apart have taught them that they have to take their chances when they find them; these things can rarely be planned.

But Dean has said he will try, and that's enough for him to hope.

Michael's lingering presence over the weekend doesn't help, the other man there every time he turns his head. Each moment Castiel spends with the man is becoming more of a chore, an effort not to cringe away from hands he no longer wants to touch him. It isn't Michael's fault Castiel feels the way he does, he has always been a good partner and for that Castiel tries not to resent him, nevertheless if his lover was anyone other than Michael Di Angeles, Castiel knows he would have left in an instant. The lack of choice makes it difficult to feel any affection for the man, no matter how well he is treated.

And Dean… Dean just makes it that much harder.

Before Castiel's world was turned on its head by the green-eyed man, he was already aware he wasn't in love with Michael- but he had accepted his lot. Whilst neither epic nor mind-blowing, it was comfortable, and Castiel had long resigned himself to the fact that this was enough.

But with Dean… well… words can't come close to describing what he has with Dean. It's everything. Deeper than the desire that runs molten hot between them, the underlying certainty that this is something more; something rare and precious.

Together they delude themselves it's only physical, the flawed logic being that acceptance of any more profound feeling will only lead to misery, when they are fully aware this can never go anywhere. But in reality, they both know deep down this has never been just about sex… they won't admit it, but you don't risk your life time and time again for a quick hand job.

And so with his mind firmly focussed on getting through these few days, the possibility of seeing Dean on Monday the light at the end of the tunnel, Castiel doesn't think too hard on Michael's oddly constant presence.

If he stopped to consider it, he might realise there's something unusual in Michael being home at the weekend, a time he would typically spend the majority of at the club.

If he stopped to consider it, he might realise that since Thursday, Michael has barely let him out of his sight.

(***)

Arriving at the gallery Monday morning, Castiel lets himself in through the side entrance, a curl of anticipation in his stomach as thinks about what the day may hold. He smiles to hear the off-key singing of his assistant Becky, coming from the floor above him.

"Morning Mr Novak," she beams, offering a mug of steaming coffee as soon as he has ascended the stairs to his office, chattering excitedly about her weekend as she follows him to his desk.

Castiel listens politely, nodding his head at appropriate intervals, but he has long since stopped trying to decipher any actual words when she talks this fast. After initially hiring Becky, and discovering that the high pitched shrieking and hysterical laughter were not in fact down to interview nerves, he had wondered if perhaps he'd made a grave mistake, but for some undeterminable reason she had grown on him- whilst grating occasionally, he can't help but smile at her unrelenting cheerfulness and enthusiasm.

"So…" she eventually pauses for breath, when Castiel has just about finished his coffee, and is considering a second, "Is Mr Shurley coming by today?"

Chuck Shurley is one of the aspiring new artists Castiel is considering showcasing, and he's due to meet with him again later in the week.

"Friday," Castiel answers, thumbing through his planner. Her little huff of disappointment makes him look up in surprise, frowning as Becky scowls at the floor, twirling the hem of her sweater between her fingers. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"Oh nothing," she shrugs, but her light tone of a few moments ago has faded somewhat, "It's just… well Friday is my day off."

Realisation dawns and Castiel smiles inwardly. Becky and Chuck… now that could be interesting.

"Well… I'm likely to be quite busy on Friday, perhaps you would consider coming into work and maybe taking your day off another day?"

Becky's smile is dazzling.

"Seriously? Well if you really need me of course I'll be here!"

"That would be very helpful, thank you Becky." Castiel chuckles quietly, pleased he can help along someone else's love life.

If only his own was so uncomplicated.

(***)

* * *

><p><em>It takes nearly nine months to plan the gallery opening, and by the night of the launch, Castiel is completely on edge with nervous excitement. Michael laughs at his agitation as they oversee the caterers making the final touches to the canapés; he presses a glass of champagne into his fingers and reaches up to adjust his bowtie.<em>

"_Calm down Castiel, everything is going to be perfect." Michael cups his face and kisses him softly. "You've worked so hard for this evening, relax now and enjoy it."_

_It's true he's worked night and day over the past months, leaving no details to chance. He could have hired numerous people to do the work for him, but instead chose to take on as much of it as possible himself. Michael may have provided the capital to start the business, but Castiel is determined to prove himself, to find success in his own right, and so has accepted only as much as was strictly necessary to get started, fully intending to repay eveMichael with every cent._

_The gallery itself is a quirky little building set in a street of mismatched constructions; red brick next to Tudor black and white, tall and turreted beside short, squat and thatched. Spread over three floors, the peculiar design and several misguided renovations have left no two rooms the same, instead creating an assortment of different spaces, each with its own unique shape and feel._

_It was the first property Castiel viewed, and whilst Michael had looked dubiously at the irregular structure, suggesting instead a more appropriate location in Manhattan; western Chelsea or some other similarly pricey, art prevalent district, Castiel had seen perfection. _

_Years later, Michael would laugh that nobody else could have seen potential in such a ramshackle old place, but even he had to admit that what Castiel had done to the place was nothing short of genius. Taking advantage of the unusual layout, Castiel had created a variety of display spaces, each one subtly attuned to the collections he would exhibit in them. __For now the collection is small, the full gallery capacity unused, but the publicity created by this evening should provide sufficient exposure for him to be on his way. _

_(***)_

_By the time the evening is in full swing, Castiel has finally begun to settle. The turnout has been better than he could have hoped for, and looking around he can see only a handful of faces attributed to Michael's presence, the majority of people here for the art. Castiel mingles, and for the first time in a large gathering, does not feel out of place. He belongs here; this is his night._

"_Feeling better now?" Michael catches him as he passes, wrapping his arms around his waist and murmuring into his ear._

"_Much." Castiel turns around beaming with excitement and rests his hands on Michael's shoulders, leaning in impulsively to kiss him. "Thank you."_

_Michael smiles at the affectionate gesture, catching one of Castiel's hands and bringing it to his lips._

"_You have done a wonderful job Castiel; everyone has been very complimentary of the evening, and of the collection." _

_Castiel flushes with pride; he can't help but feel pleased with his accomplishment. Ordinarily he would assume Michael was being patronising, but he knows the words to be true as he has already received several generous offers for some of the pieces._

"_I couldn't have done it without you," he mutters shyly, entwining his fingers with Michael's._

_Michael's laugh is low and silky. "Well if you wish to show your appreciation later, I wouldn't be one to stop you." He presses a quick kiss to the corner of Castiel's mouth. "But for now go, network."_

_Castiel rolls his eyes, but turns away with a smile, moving through the crowd. _

_When he spots Dean Winchester skulking in a far corner dubiously eyeing a colourful abstract of a naked woman, his good mood instantly falters and he feels a twinge of irritation._

_Since getting off on the wrong foot all those years ago, his relationship with Dean has never recovered. Initially he had intended to give the man the benefit of the doubt; whilst his comment was hurtful he'd only been repeating what he'd heard from Michael's other lackeys. But when his one attempt at conversation a few weeks later had been met with a cold shoulder and snide comment, Castiel had been disappointed to realise he was just like the others._

_He isn't sure why that bothers him so much. _

_He watches Dean shuffle from one foot to the other unconsciously tugging at his collar, and feels a flicker of pity. This is obviously not Dean's scene; he's only here at Michael's bidding. Determined to be a good host, Castiel dredges up every last charitable feeling he can find, and heads over to the other man._

(***)

_Dean hates champagne, with its annoying bubbles in its stupid flimsy glass. _

_He hates wearing a bowtie; he feels like an idiot in a penguin suit, and the winged collar digs into his throat. _

_Finger food? Yeah he hates that too. Seriously, what's the point in something where you take one bite and it's gone?_

_Oh and he hates damn freaking modern art, and the dumb pretentious types who actually __like__ it._

_But most of all… he hates how utterly, gut-wrenchingly, slit-your-own-wrists-you-want-something-so-bad__** perfect**__ Castiel looks in a goddamn tuxedo._

_Really, how's he supposed to concentrate on hating someone when all he wants to do is run his tongue over their skin, just to see what it tastes like?_

_When he first arrived tonight and saw the other man greeting people at the entrance, glowing with exhilaration in his beautifully tailored suit, Dean had almost turned into a puddle of goo right there and then._

_He's been working for Michael for five years now, and during that time his encounters with Castiel have been tetchy at best. Dean has to admit that's pretty much totally his fault. During their disastrous first meeting, Castiel's condescending words had embarrassed him. Whilst probably true, they had dented his pride, and reacting in true Winchester style, he had shot down Castiel's only attempt at extending an olive branch._

_At first it was easy to convince himself he hated the man; he's always been wound up by those born to privilege, so the way Castiel has stumbled upon it through Michael has made him an easy target. Dean has literally sweated blood to pull together the money for Sammy's college fees, yet all Castiel had to do was bat his eyelashes in the right direction and he's set for life._

_It's taken him years to realise that the real root of his frustration is unreconciled desire._

"_Beautiful, isn't she?" _

_Dean jumps as his musing is interrupting by a gravelly voice at his shoulder. Spinning around, he finds himself face to face with Castiel. Suddenly his palms grow damp and his grip on the slim crystal stem of his glass seems precarious._

"_Huh?" he blinks, aware the man has just asked him something._

"_Lillianne," he indicates the painting Dean hadn't really been looking at. "Lovely, don't you think?"_

_Dean glances up at the canvas. He's never really understood abstract art, what's the point in painting something that doesn't look like what it's supposed to be? He shrugs, "I'm not really into chicks."_

_The innuendo is completely accidental. As soon as he says the words he feels himself redden as he realises how that sounds. Castiel's eyes widen and for a moment there is an awkward silence between them._

"_So… good party anyway," Dean fidgets uneasily, unsure what to say, Castiel however looks grateful for the lifeline._

"_Thank you, it was a little stressful to organise, but I'm glad everything has gone according to plan."_

"_Yeah well, you throw enough money at something; it's bound to come good. Not too difficult when you've got a sugar daddy financing it."_

_Dean doesn't even know why he says it. It's like a knee-jerk reaction. He knows Castiel is only trying to be friendly, despite Dean's poor behaviour over the years, and the best he can come up with is one of his usual jibes._

_Castiel stiffens and he narrows his eyes, mouth settling into a hard line. Dean expects the man to storm off, that being his subconscious intention, to drive the man away and remove the painful temptation of being so close. But instead Castiel steps closer, and strong fingers take a bruising grip on his elbow._

"_Perhaps you could assist me in the kitchen for a moment, Dean." Castiel speaks through clenched teeth._

_Without giving him a chance to reply, Castiel is moving off through the crowd, and Dean has to make the choice between following him and losing an arm._

_After being prodded roughly through the double doors into the small kitchenette, now empty as all the servers circulate between the guests, Dean finds himself pushed around the corner out of sight of the door and shoved roughly against a stark tiled wall, held there by the surprising force of Castiel's anger._

"_What is your problem Dean Winchester, what on earth have I done to offend you so?"_

_Dean struggles against the firm grip, "Get your damn hands off me!"_

"_Not until you tell me what your issue is. This has gone on too long, and it stops now."_

"_Or what, you're going to tell Michael on me?"_

_Castiel's eyes blaze and he leans close to hiss the words in Dean's ear._

"_I wouldn't do that because it would accomplish nothing. It would not change your opinion. But I could. Don't think for a moment that Michael wouldn't snap your stupid spine if I told him some of the things I've heard over the years. You should show me some respect."_

_Castiel pulls back a little and looks him in the eye, his piercing blue gaze unsettling when aimed from such a short distance._

"_My relationship with Michael is my own business, and I think my silence over the years has earned me the right to go about my life without judgement from you or any other. So how about we start acting like adults, and go back out there and have a civil conversation?"_

_It's the most Dean has ever heard Castiel say, and he's disconcerted by the way his body is reacting to Castiel's voice, no matter the harsh words. The heat of Castiel's body pressed against his is doing strange things to his brain, abandoning rational thought and letting instinct take over. _

_He can feel the other man's breath on his face, warm with the scent of champagne and mint. Dean unconsciously licks his lips, trying to capture the taste._

_The small movement catches Castiel's eye, and his gaze automatically focusses on Dean's mouth. _

_In an instant the tension between them has switched frequency._

_The hand pinning Dean to the wall relaxes until it is simply resting on his chest, the steady drumming of his heart too quick beneath the light touch, Dean finds his hands on Castiel's hips without ever making a conscious decision to put them there. Castiel's eyes flutter closed, breathing in the other man's air as Dean inches closer. _

"_Ok Cas."_

_Dean murmurs the words almost against Castiel's skin, he draws a deep trembling breath and moves in to close the final distance between them._

_A sudden burst of noise breaks the moment as the kitchen door swings open, and Castiel springs back as though scalded, eyes wide with panic and chest heaving._

_They stare at each other, listening to two of the caterers replenishing their trays of canapés, after a moment the surge of laughter and clinking glasses signals their departure and the two men are once more alone._

_Castiel starts backing slowly away like a cornered animal, head shaking dumbly._

_Dean open his mouth, but he has no words._

"_I have to get back." _

_With that Castiel turns and flees, leaving Dean leaning heavily against the wall, half hard and more confused than ever._

_"Fuck," He mutters under his breath, then again louder, "Fuck!"_

_He throws his head backwards, hitting it against the cold unforgiving wall._

_He is so unbelievably screwed._

(***)

* * *

><p>Monday's at the gallery are usually reserved for private viewings for some of Castiel's higher spending clients, remaining closed to the general public. As luck would have it, today his schedule is free, and Castiel asks Becky to make sure it stays that way, making some excuse he would later fail to recall; he is reluctant to commit any time away, no matter how small the chance that Dean may stop by.<p>

He spends most of the day jumping up to peer out of the window each time an engine that sounds vaguely like the Impala's passes by, but when late afternoon rolls around with still no sign of the other man, Castiel's hopes start to fail. He lets Becky leave early for the day, irritated by her chirpy presence, and retreats into his office to sulk.

"You know you should really do something about the security here… anyone could just walk right in off the street."

Castiel's eyes shoot up from his paperwork at the low voice coming from the doorway. His heart thumps when he sees Dean leaning against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other and arms folded across his chest making his bulky leather jacket stand up away from his shoulders.

"Dean," he breathes his name in a sigh of relief, the sight of the other man soothing and inciting all at once.

"Seriously Cas, you've got what, like hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of stuff in this place, and you don't keep your front door locked?"

"I'll speak to Becky about it," Castiel murmurs distractedly, eyes hungrily dragging over the other man's form as Dean saunters into the room.

Dean barely gets the door closed behind him before Castiel is around the desk and on him. He chuckles in surprise as he is bailed up against the frosted glass panels, pinned by Castiel's slighter frame. The smaller man claims his mouth in a bruising kiss and Dean groans under the onslaught, his hands finding purchase on Castiel's lapels and tugging the other man closer.

"Jesus Cas," Dean gasps when he feels nimble fingers already loosening his belt. "You missed me or something?"

Castiel's hands don't stop, but he pulls back to narrow his eyes at Dean reprovingly. Leaning in close, he licks lightly at Dean's neck before catching his earlobe between his teeth. Dean shivers at the rough growl hot in his ear,

"Don't ask stupid questions."

Dragging Castiel's mouth back to his, Dean walks Castiel backwards, their lips still joined, hands reaching for the fastenings on the other man's slacks. Castiel pulls Dean's belt straight from the loops, tossing it to one side and flicking open the button.

"Did you have any trouble getting away?" Castiel murmurs, gasping when the desk hits the back of his thighs.

Dean pauses at this, the question bringing about a niggling sense of unease. Castiel pulls back when he feels Dean's hesitation; taking in the other man's small frown.

"Actually… Michael was the one who told me to come here… said he wanted me to check everything was ok."

"And that's a problem because…?" Castiel prompts, mouth returning to suck at the soft skin of Dean's neck, humming in contentment at the familiar taste of the other man.

Dean grunts as Castiel's fingers find their way into his jeans, palming him through the thin material of his boxers.

"I don't know..." he mutters, quickly losing all propensity for higher thought, distracted by the warm pressure of Castiel's hand on his cock. "Just unusual I guess."

"Well then, no sense looking a gift horse in the mouth," Castiel manhandles Dean around until he's leaning against the desk, he presses a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back with a small smirk and dropping to his knees.

Gripping tightly onto the solid table edge, Dean sighs heavily as Castiel plucks his cock from inside his boxers, half hard but thickening rapidly under Castiel's attention. He looks down at the dark-haired man and his gaze zeros in on the sinful pink tongue which peeks out to lap greedily at the head of his dick, gasping breathily as he is encased in slick moist heat.

Castiel flattens his tongue against the underside of Dean's cock, humming softly as Dean helplessly threads a hand into his soft hair, holding him in place. Hollowing his cheeks, Castiel bobs his head steadily until Dean feels his dick hit the back of his throat and cries out in pleasure.

Dean is just settling into a delicious rhythm, thrusting lightly as Castiel takes more of him in, when the other man pulls away, making Dean whimper at the loss of contact.

"Turn around," Castiel rumbles, siting back on his heels and looking up at Dean, his mouth reddened and lips shiny. Dean groans at the sight, but complies readily, much to Castiel's approval.

Dean feels Castiel roughly tugging down his jeans and boxers, tapping his feet so his he can slide them off. Castiel doesn't often take control, but it's such a fucking turn on when he does; the man is so damn hot when he gets all authoritative and demanding. He bends over the desk, spreading his legs until he feels the cool air between them, exposing himself to Castiel's hungry gaze and drawing a low wrecked sound from the other man.

The first scrape of teeth against the back of his thigh makes Dean jump, the follow-up hot swipe of Castiel's tongue leaving him trembling and leaning more heavily over the desk. He groans as Castiel licks a wet trail up his leg, running his tongue between his spread cleft before moving across to suck a dark purple bruise into Dean's ass cheek.

"Lube," Castiel mutters, pulling back to admire the mark blossoming on Dean's skin.

Dean reaches across the desk and into the open drawer, fishing around until he finds the small concealed tube.

Yeah ok, so they've done this before.

Castiel pushes himself to his feet, taking the bottle from Dean and squeezing out a liberal amount of the clear jelly. The first cold slippery finger pressing into him has the taller man jerking, fingers flexing against whatever important paperwork is spread over Castiel's desk.

"Shh," Castiel croons, twisting his finger and pumping gently. He pushes in a second just a little too soon, pulling a broken gasp from Dean at the welcome burn. "I've got you."

Knowing fingers dance maddeningly close to his prostate, and Dean pushes back instinctively, shamelessly searching out more pressure.

"Come on Cas," he grunts, rolling his hips impatiently. "I'm ready… show me what you've got."

"What was that?"

The sharp points of Castiel's fingers abandon their teasing and jab mercilessly at his sweet spot making Dean cry out, keening forward and smashing his cheek into the cold polished wood.

"Son of a bitch," he growls, shuddering violently as Castiel torments him with unrelenting pleasure, white spots obscuring his vision.

"Is it too much Dean?" Castiel murmurs, leaning over him and running his tongue over the sun-browned skin at the back of his neck.

Dean can only mumble unintelligibly, words beyond him at this point. Castiel pauses the motion of his fingers, leaning closer over the prone man.

"I didn't quite catch that."

"Just fuck me already!" Dean practically snarls, twisting his head enough to glare at Castiel over his shoulder. The other man captures his lips in an awkward kiss and then Dean is suddenly empty, the rustle of clothing and the sound of Castiel dragging a slick hand over himself just audible over his ragged breathing.

When Castiel lines himself up and pushes into Dean's reddened entrance, it isn't gentle and it isn't slow. For that Dean is supremely grateful. He doesn't think his strung out nerves could take it. Castiel bottoms out in one smooth thrust, barely giving him a moment to adjust before setting up a punishing pace.

Dean tries to push back, but one of Castiel's hands comes to the back of his neck, pushing him down whilst the other clamps tightly to his hip. Grunting in protest at the restraint, Dean wiggles futilely, but Castiel's grip is like iron. It never ceases to amaze Dean how much deceptive strength is in Castiel's wiry form. Dean's erection remains untouched, smearing sticky trails of pre-come across the shiny surface, but Castiel's hold on him makes touching himself impossible.

Tightening his grip on the table top, Dean tries to hold steady whilst Castiel uses him hard and fast, the rush of blood pounding in his ears drowning out the sharp slap of skin on skin. Castiel's harsh grip on his hips becomes bruising, and the man's rhythm starts to falter as he nears his climax. At the last minute the hand at the top of his spine is removed and Dean feels himself being dragged upright, Castiel's hand snaking around his waist to take a firm hold of his dripping cock.

The sudden change in angle pushes Castiel over the edge with a mangled cry. He stands on his tiptoes thrusting up powerfully into Dean, face pressed into his shoulder as he spends heavily. Dean's hand comes to cover Castiel's around his dick, urging the other man to keep touching him. Their joint grip pumps him roughly until Dean arches back into Castiel, head falling onto his shoulder as he releases with a trembling groan, white ropes spurting thick over Castiel's desk.

"Mmm… I needed that," Castiel mumbles against Dean's skin with a satisfied sigh, pulling back slightly and wincing at the tackiness between them. He glances over Dean's shoulder at the mess of his desk and frowns,

"You came on my appointment book."

Dean takes one look at his piqued expression and bursts into laughter.

(***)  
><em><br>Stepping out of a shiny black car, the figure looks around the deserted street until their eyes light upon the sign they are looking for; 'Novak Fine Arts'. This is the place then._

_Crossing the road and peering through the tinted glass, there doesn't seem to be anyone on the ground floor; they try the side entrance. It's unlocked._

_The sound of muted laughter drifts down from a floor above and they head towards it, soundlessly moving up the winding staircase until the corridor branches off. Pausing to figure out which way to go, the muffled sound grows suddenly louder as a door opens at the end of the corridor, two men now visible in the doorway, framed by the orange glow of the setting sun filtering through the blinds._

_The figure watches as the pair share a tender kiss and what looks like a heartfelt goodbye, their foreheads pressed lightly together, soft words whispered against each other's lips. _

_Neither of them notices the silent approach, but a light cough instantly draws their attention, twin looks of shock in startled blue and horror-struck green._

"_Well well well Castiel… someone's been a naughty boy."_

* * *

><p><strong>Oops, sorry… so how does everyone feel about another cliff-hanger? Please don't hate me - everything will be revealed in due course!<strong>

**(Btw, I really didn't intend for smut to happen here, but I couldn't help it – these two just can't keep their hands off each other!)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry its late again peeps, I had a bit of trouble getting this chapter just how I wanted it. Still not exactly happy, but hey-ho, I don't think I'll ever get it right... will just have to wait on the verdict from you guys.**

**Upcoming dub-con, just so you know**

* * *

><p><em>"Damn, my brain hurts." Pamela moans, slamming the heavy textbook closed and dropping her head against the desk. Reaching under the bench to sift through the snacks they'd brought she retrieves a dry cracker and munches it listlessly. Glancing up to the darkened windows she lets out a heavy sigh. "We have to be the only losers still studying at this time on a Friday night… are you sure we can't go for a drink instead?"<em>

_"Mid-terms are less than month away," Castiel warns, glancing up from his notes with a small smile. "We only have a limited timeframe in which to memorize all the required information as it is, without destroying valuable brain cells with alcohol."_

_"I've studied so much I'll need to kill off a few just to make any room to think," Pamela snorts, "Come on Ash, you're with me, right?"_

_"Right on," Ash murmurs, not looking up from his laptop. It's unlikely he's been revising anyway._

_"Novak?"_

_"I don't think so," Castiel murmurs, ducking his head back into his book._

_"Oh come on man, you never come out with us." Pamela punches him lightly in the arm. "There's plenty of time left to study before exams, we've worked hard the last few days- we deserve a break!"_

_"I really shouldn't."_

_"Where's the fun in doing what you should?" Pamela winks, flicking her dark hair back and leaning over the table. "Come on Castiel, don't be a spoilsport."_

_Refusing to meet her eyes, Castiel flips over a page, staring intently at the image of Matisse's 'Woman with a Hat' and trying to concentrate on the accompanying text._

_It's tempting… oh so tempting. A loner all through high school, having friends for the first time is a new experience- and he so badly doesn't want to disappoint them, doesn't want them to find him dull and lose interest._

_"What's the problem… your boyfriend won't let you out so late?"_

_But then there's that._

_It's only six months since his relationship with Michael progressed from the more confusing stage of their courtship when Castiel was unsure what to make of their time together, to the eventual revelation of Michael's intentions and the beginning of any form of intimacy between them. Only six months, yet already Castiel is forgetting what it was like to make decisions without first vetting them with 'what would Michael say?'_

_It's depressing how easily he has accepted that._

_"I don't need Michael's permission," Castiel mutters, the tips of his ears glowing with chagrin._

_It isn't a lie, though neither is it the whole truth. Michael would never set demands or forbid anything, but Castiel is coming to understand that the man doesn't have to, his expectations are clear nonetheless._

_"So what's the problem?"_

_Castiel chews his bottom lip, torn with indecision. He's never been to a bar without Michael's accompaniment… never been in a club, period. It's not as though he's unhappy with his situation, but he can't help but wonder what it would be like to spend the evening with people his own age for a change, to socialise with his newfound friends and have a taste of what he's been missing._

_Michael would surely disapprove… but then as far as Michael knows, he's studying late then going home. There's no reason for him to find out otherwise._

_"No problem I guess… fine, I'll go."_

(***)

_Squeezing his eyes shut, Castiel massages his temples in an effort to assuage the dull pounding in his skull. His stomach churns disagreeably and the taste of tequila still lingers sourly on his tongue._

_God damn Pamela and that last round of shots… he'd been doing so well up until then._

_Groaning inwardly, Castiel wishes he'd been able to get just a few more hours sleep this morning instead of being woken at the crack of dawn; it's not unusual for John Winchester to appear on his doorstep or outside a lecture theatre to collect him at Michael's request, but he has to curse his own bad fortune that the older man would choose this particular morning to demand his presence._

_The low hum of Michael's voice in the next room stops and he hears the click of a receiver followed by the soft padding of approaching footsteps._

"_Good morning Castiel, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."_

"_Michael," Castiel pries his eyes open, squinting slightly at the unwelcome brightness to see the other man standing in the doorway. Michael looks immaculate as always in a navy double-breasted suit, silver tiepin glinting in the weak early morning sun; Castiel feels grubby and unkempt in comparison, having only had time to wash his face and brush his teeth whilst John had waited._

"_How are you?" Michael asks, taking a seat opposite him. "You seem a little… under the weather."_

"_I'm fine," Castiel smiles faintly, though the rolling in his stomach and slight green tinge to his skin tell another story. "Just feeling a little queasy… maybe something I ate."_

"_Possibly," Michael crosses his legs and reclines slightly, surveying Castiel over the peaks of his clasped fingertips, "Though I would say it's more likely to be the six bottles of beer, eight shots of tequila, three rum and cokes and the margarita you consumed last night at that club down on 6__th__, wouldn't you agree?"_

_Castiel's heart stops and for a long moment he simply stares, mouth dropping open with an audible pop._

"_How… how did you…"_

_Michael smiles amiably though the expression does not reach his eyes; Castiel feels a sharp spike of fear at the hard look in those grey depths._

"_Come Castiel, I believed you to have more intelligence than that." Michael spreads his arms expansively, "Surely you realise I know everything that goes on in these parts."_

_The dumbstruck expression on Castiel's face holds steady._

"_I have many eyes Castiel; you should know that nothing escapes my notice. So why would you think you could get away with lying to me about your whereabouts- what happened to your study group?"_

_Castiel swallows carefully around the lump in his throat. "We were working in the library until it got late, then someone suggested going for a few drinks… my intention was not to mislead you, it was a last minute decision- I swear I would never lie to you."_

_Michael nods slowly._

"_Indeed. Well then… perhaps you would like to tell me about the young man who so eagerly claimed your attention last night?"_

_Castiel pales, his blood turning to treacle in his veins, a thick sludge his heart struggles to process. How on earth does Michael know about that? His chest constricts painfully and nausea rises as blurred memories of the previous evening flicker through his thoughts._

**A flirtatious wink across the bar, drinks pressed into his fingers with a seductive 'it's on me'… **

"_It was nothing." Castiel murmurs, a slight quiver to his voice. "He… he bought me a drink… I thought he was just being friendly,"_

**The flash of animal white teeth and a lean body pressed against his back… sweaty hands grasping his hips, swaying against him, moving with the body of the crowd to the pulsing rhythm of the heavy electric bass… **

"_Then he tried to dance with me…"_

'**Come outside with me', murmured low and suggestive into his ear… warm breath on his neck, knowing fingers toying with the waistband of his jeans… a stirring deep in his gut never engendered by Michael- a moment of indecision…**

**Lucidity breaking through the alcohol induced haze… reluctant withdrawal**

'**I can't, I'm with someone… he'd kill me.'**

**A quiet chuckle, 'Why… who is he?'**

**A look of horror at the response… followed by a swift exit.**

"_But nothing happened- I told him I was in a relationship and he left… that's it."_

"_I see."_

_Locked in the snake's glare unable to look away- frozen by the power of the gorgon, Castiel holds his breath and waits for the next move._

_Rising to his feet with the elegance of a predator, the lazy uncoiling of a cat readying for hunt, Michael comes to stand behind him, placing two hands firmly on his shoulders._

_The gesture is unthreatening, yet Castiel feels the weight of those fingers like a ton of bricks bearing down on him._

"_Did you know I have fourteen cousins?" Michael's voice sounds from above his head and Castiel blinks at the sudden change in conversation._

"_Um, no." He tries to turn and look up but Michael's grip on his shoulders is unyielding._

"_Our family has always been large, strength in numbers I believe."_

"_Right." _

"_And loyalty… they say blood is thicker than water, and I genuinely believe it to be true. Apart from John, my family are the only ones I can trust. I lead them with a strong but fair hand, and in return I have their love and devotion."_

_Castiel is completely lost. _

"_Which is why I received a visit late last night from my cousin, Balthazar."_

'**This one's on me beautiful… the name's Balthazar.'**

_It takes a few seconds for the pieces to fall into place, but when they do the brief moment of blind panic knocks the breath out of him, quiet hysteria rising behind his frozen façade. _

"_He was quite distressed at the thought that he had attempted to seduce my partner, and so came straight here to beg my forgiveness." Michael carries on conversationally. "Smart really, to come to me himself before I received word through some one else."_

_Releasing his hold on Castiel, Michael rounds the couch, coming to stand before him. He reaches a hand to help Castiel to his feet, and the younger man takes it hesitantly._

"_Anyway, I was obviously sympathetic of his blunder, excusing his ignorance," Michael pushes a strand of Castiel's hair behind his ear. "Which is why there will be no lasting damage."_

_The chill that runs through Castiel blisters his insides, the icy fear spreading from his stomach, frost licking along his veins until his whole body trembles._

"_What do you mean?" _

_Michael smiles that benevolent smile of his, shrugging unapologetically._

"_Balthazar was very understanding; he knew he would have to be punished. He took it quite admirably."_

"_But… why. Nothing happened."_

_Michael's eyes harden. _

"_Because he touched what's mine."_

_Castiel is turned and pinned to the wall by his throat before he even knows what's happened, Michael's lips brushing against his ear._

"…_And you are mine, Castiel. Make no mistake about it." _

"_I'm yours," Castiel gasps, dragging in a deep wheezing breath, whimpering at the tight grip bruising his neck and making it difficult to breathe._

_The hand gripping Castiel's throat relaxes, sliding beneath the collar of his shirt and thumbing lightly along the smooth line of his throat._

"_Do you know what first attracted me to you Castiel?" Michael's eyes follow the movement of his own hand, throwing Castiel again with the unexpected question. "Your innocence- at Rachel's funeral, you looked at me with those big blue eyes, and right there I knew- you were the one."_

_Soft fingers gently trace his collarbone, and Castiel struggles to control his erratic breathing trying to keep up with Michael's changing moods._

"_I've always chosen to forego relationships you know," Michael continues. "Too many unworthy admirers attracted by my wealth and status. But then you came along and I knew… it was time."_

_Castiel clenches his hands in the fabric of his slacks, trying to stay still as Michael's fingers start to unbutton his shirt._

"_But you are young, and so I've been patient. I haven't wanted to rush you, but last night tells me that perhaps I have been too generous, and now it's time for you to learn your place." _

_Pushing his shirt from his shoulders, Michael greedily eyes the expanse of Castiel's bare chest, tracing his hands over the pale unblemished flesh with something akin to reverence. He mouths the tender skin of the younger man's neck, sucking roughly until it begins to bruise then biting down sharply._

"_I've given you everything you wanted Castiel," Michael growls, voice rough with lust. "And now it is time for you to give all you have to me."_

(***)

_It hurts. Good God, it hurts._

_Castiel clenches his teeth to hold in the pained cries clamouring for release, fingers twisted in the sheets until they almost lose circulation as Michael moves inside him._

_He hasn't got a great deal of knowledge on the mechanics of all this, but he's certain preparation is essential, and he's pretty sure he hasn't had nearly enough._

_Sitting on the bed stroking his own erection, Michael had dropped a tube of lubricant onto his stomach with a terse instruction to 'open yourself up'. Though Castiel had tried, he didn't have a clue what he was doing, and after a few short moments Michael had pushed away his trembling fingers and replaced them with the rounded head of his cock._

_Breaching the first tight ring of muscle, Michael pushes relentlessly forward, forcing himself inside Castiel's under stretched channel. Biting down hard on his tongue, Castiel tastes rich copper as blood fills his mouth. He feels lightheaded; the excruciating pain of Michael's engorged flesh branding him from the inside._

"_Yes…" Michael hisses when he eventually bottoms out, pausing to revel in the tight dry heat of Castiel's body. Castiel whimpers pitifully when the older man pulls back, dragging his flesh taut before pushing back in. He can't help but struggle a little, his body instinctively shying away from the burning pressure, but Michael's hands catch him immediately, holding his wrists in a bruising grip and preventing resistance._

_Michael kisses him and Castiel tries helplessly to concentrate on the movement of his lips, distracting him from the jerky rhythm of Michael's hips, thrusting shallowly as the younger man's clenched muscles prevent more exaggerated movement. Castiel's cock remains limp and lifeless between them, the pain enough to combat any chance of arousal. Occasionally Michael's dick brushes something inside of him, sending a brief flare of pleasure sparking through his limbs, but it isn't enough to ease the discomfort and Castiel finds himself scrunching his eyes shut and praying it will be over soon._

_Eventually Michael's movements become fitful, the older man panting heavily as he drives into Castiel's battered body, until finally he fetches up against him, growling as he comes in one long spasm._

_Castiel lets out a small cry of surprise at the sudden wet heat flooding him, then gasps as Michael's solid weight lands heavily on his chest. Gasping for breath Castiel pushes at the other man, wriggling slightly until Michael grunts, his flaccid cock sliding free with a pained groan from Castiel, and rolls over._

"_It'll be easier next time," Michael stretches, closing his eyes and drifting already towards slumber. "You'll see."_

_(***)_

_Whilst Michael had fallen asleep instantly, Castiel had lain for a long time staring at the decorative cornice above the door before the emotional drain had allowed him to drop into an uneasy doze. _

_When he awakes, it takes a minute of disconcerted panic to figure out where he is, the unfamiliar bedroom seeming cold and unfriendly. Looking around, he finds himself alone, the angle of the sunlight through the window suggesting late afternoon. _

_Castiel shifts and is at once greeted by a lance of sharp pain shooting through his insides, he freezes and takes a few deep breaths before trying again. Moving gingerly, he stands, wincing at the dull ache that persists, and walks awkwardly to the bathroom, leaning on the basin and taking in the sight of his reflection._

_Oh. He'd expected to look different. _

_He certainly feels it._

_Raising a hand to the purple mark marring the pale skin of his neck, he notices the shadows of developing bruises around his wrist. He stares at them for a long time before looking up to meet the haunted expression on his own face. Closing his eyes, he turns away in disgust._

_Setting the shower blissfully hot Castiel steps into the cubicle, letting the scalding spray hit him square in the face and breathing in the cloying thickness of the steam. It's only when the first soothing droplets of water hit his abused body, that the tears start to fall._

_His silent weeping quickly turns into breathless sobs, the kind of crying when you have to fight for air between each wracking whimper. He cries for his lost innocence, for the pain wrought on his body, but most of all, he cries because he has finally realised exactly what he's gotten himself into._

_Naively believing the rumours to be exaggerated just because Michael has been nice to him, he'd ignored the warnings around him, and now it's too late. Now he's trapped._

_Sliding down the tiled wall, Castiel hugs his knees to his chest and rocks himself until the water runs cold._

_(***)_

_Later that evening Castiel sits alone in Michael's kitchen, sipping coffee that is barely above room temperature. The other man has yet to come home, but Castiel knows it's important that he be here when he does, so has already called Anna and told her not to expect him back at Zachariah's._

_Now that the uncontrollable surge of despair that had overcome him earlier has ebbed, he feels strangely calm. Prepared. So now he knows- how it is to be._

_He thinks back over the last six months with Michael, from the man's declaration of intention and the almost shy hesitancy of their first kiss, to the terrifying ordeal of this morning. Michael is still the same person he reminds himself- still the same man that took him to the opera for the first time and offered him a handkerchief in amusement when he wept at the finale, the same man who held his hand at his aunt's graveside at the first anniversary of her death. _

_Up until today he's been reasonably content with their relationship, happy in the other man's company. It isn't love, but Castiel had thought it could grow, and perhaps it still can. They get on well enough and now Castiel understands where he truly stands, and Michael's expectations of him, perhaps this isn't as bad as first thought. Michael is an honourable man in his own way; Castiel knows that if he acts as he should he will be treated well._

_Self-preservation instincts kicking in, Castiel realises this is his only option. It may not be ideal, but he doesn't have a choice. He can't leave- Michael has made that perfectly clear, this is it now. This is his life. And he can sit here despairing over his fate, or accept it._

_Pushing aside any misgivings, Castiel vows that from now on, he will be the perfect partner to Michael, devoted until the man decides otherwise. He will be loyal and doting, responsive to his every need and will give the man no reason for a repeat of this morning. That decided, he feels a little better. He will show Michael just how good he can be, and they will go on as though today never happened._

_A week later, Michael asks Castiel to move in with him. Castiel says yes._

_Two months after that, Michael takes on a new recruit. His name is Dean Winchester_

(***)

* * *

><p>"Who the hell are you?"<p>

Shifting automatically into 'defend and protect', Dean eyes the newcomer suspiciously, subtly shifting to place himself in front of Castiel. Leaving its place on Castiel's hip, his hand instinctively comes to rest on the semi-automatic tucked into his belt.

Looking Dean up and down, unimpressed, the visitor chuckles lightly, "Easy Rambo, why don't you go take a walk. I need a word with Cassie here."

Glancing towards Castiel and seeing the other man's frozen expression, a mingling of shock and fear, Dean bristles with anger. Nobody gets to make Castiel look like that.

"Or.. how about you tell me who the fuck you are and I don't kick your ass for trespassing."

The stranger raises an eyebrow and fixes Dean with a cool stare, sighing wearily as though this whole situation is tedious.

"They call me Gabriel."

If the man is expecting a reaction at this declaration, he is sorely disappointed.

"Yeah, and…?" Dean looks down at the sandy blonde-haired man, still assessing the level of threat. "What does…"

A hand on his elbow interrupts him and he turns to see Castiel staring uncomfortably at the stranger, brow creased in apprehension. When he speaks, his voice is pained and low.

"Dean… Gabriel is Michael's brother."

* * *

><p><strong>Super-long AN: Yeah… ok. So I don't know how this chapter will be received, as I said, I'm not really happy with it myself, so I'd be really grateful for some feedback. **

**Sorry about the Michael/Cas, I know a lot of you have started shipping them, and I hope this didn't put you off, but I pretty much always planned for this to happen. In fact, I think originally it was going to be a lot more harrowing and violent but when it came to it it just didn't feel right. Anyway that's about it for the background on their relationship. Let me know if I've missed anything or any of it's unclear.**

**And… Gabriel! Regarding the mystery figure, I admit I wasn't 100% set on who it would be when I wrote the last chapter, I have been playing with a couple of options, but L. Greene wanted an appearance from Gabe, so… voila!**

**Lastly- Thank you again to all reviewers, you guys keep me motivated – please don't stop!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I know, I know guys – I'm so sorry. Unfortunately after a long and painful illness, by laptop has finally ascended to pc heaven, and I am, alas, computerless. For some reason my other half has banned me from borrowing his computer (it's like he thinks I'm going to use it to write smut or something!), but screw him- what he doesn't know won't hurt! So I pretty much wrote all of this by hand, and am now typing it up and uploading asap whilst he's out (yeah… am bad), so please excuse any glaring mistakes!**

**Also I just have to say – thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I had my uncertainties, but you guys made me feel so much better and gave me such a confidence boost. Love to all**

* * *

><p><em>The single bare bulb hums softly overhead, the unmuted yellow glow filtering weakly through a swirling cloud of cigarette smoke to illuminate the four figures beneath. They make a curious picture; sat around an upturned crate between trays of tomatoes and shelves of dried pasta, three men and a woman, well-dressed, not speaking, not even looking at one another… just waiting.<em>

_A quiet knock breaks the loaded silence, a short man with a curved black moustache and a cheap toupee opening the door timidly._

"_Your final guest has arrived sir," he murmurs, shuffling aside and revealing the tall dark figure behind him._

"_Excellent, come on in," the man at the 'head' of the table looks up, the glare of the fluorescent lamp catching his eyes in a sickly jaundiced reflection. He smiles, wide and wolfish. "Let's get this show on the road."_

_(***)_

_Mario steps aside for the newcomer to pass then backs carefully away, eager to be out of reach of the sinister group meeting in his stock room. He knows better by now than to wonder what is happening behind that closed door, he learnt early on not to ask questions._

_Returning to the bustling main floor of the restaurant, Mario pushes aside the skin prickling uneasiness he always feels when faced by his 'sleeping partner', and seeks comfort over the maître d's shoulder- a quick glance at the full booking list never fails to settle his nerves, just like listening to the cheerful symphony of clinking porcelain and clattering silverware harmonising with the ringing of the cash register always manages to cheer him._

_Once a rundown dime a dozen eatery, offering bad food and worse service, 'Mario's Place' had been a Health Inspector's nightmare (or dream)- an injunction or ten just waiting to happen. Through a combination of poor management and appalling luck, the place had taken a spectacular nosedive after the death of Mario's father (also called Mario) and was on the verge of closure. _

_Fighting off creditors and hiding from the bailiffs, Mario had done his level best to rescue his establishment, but he had never been a skilled business man or cunning restaurateur. So in the end, he'd resorted to the only thing he could think of…_

_He'd made a deal._

_With a cash injection for a much needed revamp- a two hundred dollar an hour interior designer and a catchy new name, 'Hell's Kitchen' had become an almost overnight success. Maybe not the most auspicious name for a restaurant- but chosen by his investor and fitting nonetheless. _

_You'd have to sell your soul for the pick of the wine list._

_And the only thing his new associate had asked in return was full control of the books and undisturbed use of the backrooms. A small price, Mario thinks. He was never good with the sums anyway, and the… unsavoury characters that sometimes come and go never hang around long enough to upset his clientele._

_Ok, it's true some of the goings on aren't exactly kosher, he's seen enough unexplained sums of money appearing on his balance sheet to know that- but he figures everyone strays a little from the straight and narrow these days. Despite the fact that the man makes his skin crawl, his new business partner has more than held up his end of the bargain, and Mario is determined that he will do the same._

_(***)_

"_Good of you to join us," the woman looks the newcomer up and down, twirling a strand of short blonde hair around her finger and smirking as the man glances around distastefully for somewhere to sit._

"_What is this place?" Nudging aside a large bag of flour and a sack of lentils, the large bald man turns over an empty crate, grimacing at the grime on the underside before seating his wide frame gingerly._

"_Welcome to Hell's kitchen," the leader spreads his arms expansively, "Just one of the humble establishments in my little portfolio." Pouring a glass of scotch from the bottle on the makeshift table, he pushes it towards the other man. "Not the classiest of settings I know, but I was under the impression that discretion would be of the upmost importance."_

"_That's true," bald guy accepts the glass, staring at the amber liquid as he swirls it gently. "If I'm seen in this part of town it would most certainly raise questions that I would rather not have to answer."_

"_Of course." The leader grins, settling back in the only actual chair in the room. Crossing his legs and making the rickety wooden seat look as though it's offering some comfort, he beckons the others towards him like a child sharing secrets,_

"_So tell me, my good people… how long before we are ready to bring down Michael Di Angeles?"_

(***)

* * *

><p>To say Dean looks surprised at the revelation of the man's identity would be to underestimate the expression of sheer jaw-dropping disbelief marring his features.<p>

Staring wide eyed and open mouthed at Gabriel; you can almost hear the whirring of his brain as he absorbs this information, the realisation of the situation setting in like an unexpected frost, sudden and devastating.

Michael's brother… of all the people to shoot his mouth off to- Michael's fucking _brother_.

Dean didn't even know Michael _had_ another sibling.

But apparently he does- and he's here… and he's just walked in on him and Castiel…

"…Fuck."

Smirking at Dean's conclusion, Gabriel pulls a lollipop from the inside pocket of his brown cord blazer.

"Sounds about right, bucko."

The man swirls the candy idly between his fingers, before removing the wrapper and lodging it in the corner of his mouth. Looking to Castiel, he nods sardonically. "Hey Cassie, long time no see."

"Gabriel." Castiel gulps, dipping his head shakily in return.

Dean's mind races as Castiel squirms beside him and Gabriel looks on in amusement. He's veering somewhere between dropping to his knees and begging Gabriel's silence, or possibly just threatening to shoot the man, when Michael's brother huffs impatiently,

"Come on guys, isn't this is the part where one of you tells me this isn't what it looks like?"

He looks expectantly between the two men, but the only sounds to break the silence are the soft ticking of the clock in Castiel's office and the blare of a car horn out on the street. Dean is genuinely unable to think of a single thing to say that will make this any better; one of his greatest fears has been realised- only a step away from Michael himself finding out, they've been busted by someone close to him.

"Jesus, I don't have all day," Gabriel rolls his eyes, "Where's all the pleading or the threats? Give me something to work with here guys!"

Shaking his head Gabriel looks at Castiel,

"Ok Castiel, let's start with you- why don't you tell me just how long have you been screwing around behind my brother's back?"

Dean feels Castiel tense up beside him, and expects the older man to stutter or gasp, to plead ignorance or denial, but to his astonishment, he hears Castiel draw a deep steadying breath and a dry palm slides into his own. Stealing a sidelong glance, he sees Castiel raise his chin and stare Gabriel down with something close to defiance.

"I don't wish to play your games Gabriel. I am not now, nor have I ever been 'screwing around'. But if you must know, Dean and I have been having relations for over two years now."

Mouth falling open for the second time is as many minutes, Dean thinks he is beginning to resemble a goldfish as he gapes at Castiel in incredulity. What the hell is Castiel thinking? Well there goes their 'it was a one-time mistake' defence.

Turning hesitantly to gauge Gabriel's reaction to the blunt statement, Dean finds the other man staring at them with an unreadable expression. Narrowing his eyes, Gabriel looks hard at first Castiel then Dean, until to his utter amazement (ok, so it's becoming his default state) the short man throws his head back and bursts out laughing.

"'Having relations Castiel? Man… you haven't changed a bit!"

Dean blinks, startled, as Gabriel chuckles merrily, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Clapping a hand on Castiel's shoulder, Gabriel squeezes it lightly and grins widely,

"Damn, I'd forgotten what a way with words you had- it's good to see you again Cassie."

His shoulders losing some of their rigid poise, Castiel relaxes a little and smiles tentatively at the short man.

"You too, Gabriel. It's been a long time."

(***)

"Can one of you please tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

It takes approximately thirteen seconds of Castiel and Gabriel greeting each other like long lost friends before Dean runs out of patience and demands an explanation. He turns an accusing glare on Castiel,

"Why the hell have you never mentioned that Michael's got a secret bro who you just happen to be BFF with? A heads up might have been nice."

"Relax, hot stuff," Gabriel rolls his eyes, herding them back into Castiel's office, seating himself behind the desk like he owns the place and rifling unashamedly through the drawers. "I haven't seen Cassie in over fifteen years- I doubt there'd be any reason for him to mention me."

"That's right Dean," Castiel lays a placating hand on Dean's arm, staring at him anxiously. "It's true Gabriel and I were friends once, but I was still a child when he left home and I haven't heard from him since."

"Bingo," Gabriel pulls a bottle of single malt from Castiel's bottom draw, whistling low in appreciation as he checks out the label. "Not bad… usually I'm more of a strawberry daiquiri man myself, but for this stuff… I'm willing to make an exception."

Dishing the whiskey into two crystal tumblers and a used coffee mug, Gabriel glances up at Dean,

"You're John Winchester's kid, right?"

"How did you-"

"You're the spit of your old man." Gabriel passes one of the glasses to Castiel, keeping the other for himself and offering the mug out to Dean. "I knew him back when he worked for my father, before Michael took over the family business. Good man… I was sorry to hear when he died."

Dean swallows carefully, schooling his features to contain his surprise. He nods once, stiffly, in acceptance.

"So I guess you followed in his footsteps, huh? Working for Michael?"

"That's right."

"Makes sense I guess, your daddy was one of the best. If you're half as good it figures Michael would want to keep you close."

Dean doesn't really know what to say to that, so instead chooses to move past it,

"So how do you two know each other then?" he looks at Castiel, "I thought you didn't meet Michael until you were seventeen?"

"I didn't…" Castiel glances from Gabriel back to Dean, "But I met Gabriel long before that. When I came to live with Rachel and Zachariah, Michael must have been about sixteen, but Gabriel is the youngest of the Di Angeles' and was only a few years older than myself." He sips at his drink and smiles at Gabriel, "Gabe used to stay with Rachel sometimes whilst his father and brothers worked- I like to think we became friends over the years… despite the number of pranks he used to pull on me."

"You were too easy kiddo," Gabriel grins, "I couldn't resist."

"So what happened," Dean asks Gabriel, "Why did you leave?"

"Honestly?" The honey-blonde man rocks his seat back onto two legs, balancing precariously and staring up at the ceiling, "I just got tired of all the fighting, I suppose. Plus, I never was cut out for the family business," He tilts his head to wink at Dean, "More of a lover than a fighter."

"So you just bailed on your family?"

"Hey," Gabriel lets the seat fall level with a heavy clatter, leaning forward and glaring at Dean. For the first time Dean sees something of his older brother in the sudden fire in his gaze. "For eighteen years I watched my brothers tear one another apart, you have no idea what that't like. Michael and Lucifer were at each other's throats for as long as I could remember, and when Dad got older and started talking about who would take over as head of the family, it only got worse. By the time I was eighteen I couldn't be in a room with either one of them without them trying to convince me to side with them when the time came."

"Ok… so why didn't you come back?" Dean holds up a hand in surrender, "Lucifer's been gone for a long time, but you still stayed away."

"You think that's by choice?" Gabriel hisses, expression dark and glowering. "Yeah ok, I ran away, but when my father died and Lucifer went to prison, Michael didn't even tell me. I heard about it three months later, and God help me, I tried to come home then. I called Michael, and you know what he said to me? He said 'I have no brother'."

Dean watches Gabriel take a deep draught from his glass and sees the pain there.

"Michael is not a man to forgive or forget; you of all people should know that. As far as he's concerned, I betrayed the family by leaving… and I'm lucky that he sees banishment as a fitting punishment rather than my life."

Gabriel closes his mouth abruptly, looking down at the desk, and Dean feels suitably chastened. Family isn't easy at the best of times, without having a pair of raging psychopaths as older brothers.

"I'm sorry man," Dean mutters.

"Yeah well," Gabriel sighs. "I made my choices, and I stick by them."

An awkward silence descends and Dean stares at the chipped porcelain in his hand blankly, trying to make sense of this overload of new information. Just when he'd thought he knew everything about his employer, something like this crops up. He wonders if he'll ever be privy to all of the intrigues hiding in the Di Angeles family closet.

The cherub on the side of his cup (a gift to Castiel from Becky) leers mischievously at him as he tries to slot all the pieces together, leaving only one question unanswered,

"So… why now?" he asks, "What are you doing here now?"

Something flickers across Gabriel's face, gone before Dean can quite distinguish it.

"I have a… parcel, for my brother. Something that's come into my possession… something I thought he should have."

Is it Dean's imagination or does Gabriel look suddenly shifty? The man looks at Dean but doesn't quite meet his eye, his gaze instead landing just short on the wall to the side of his head.

"And you couldn't post it?"

"It's a little… sensitive," Gabriel hedges, _definitely suspicious_, "I didn't want to post it, and I know Michael won't see me himself, so it seemed like a good opportunity to drop in on Cassie here and ask him to pass it on."

Dean frowns, opening his mouth to comment further when suddenly the opening riff to 'Smoke on the Water' sounds loudly from his jacket pocket.

"Excuse me," he mumbles, reaching for his cell and glancing at the caller ID before flipping it open with a sigh.

"Winchester."

A familiar rumble launches straight into a berating spiel without any preamble or greeting, Dean listens, a bored expression on his face.

"Yeah, yeah Chuckles, I'll be there…" Dean rolls his eyes, "Actually I'm on an errand for Mr Di Angeles at the minute so unless you wanted to take it up with him… yeah, didn't think so… give me thirty minutes."

Pocketing his cell, Dean meets Castiel's questioning look with a light shrug.

"Uriel- he likes to think he's the boss… I do have to leave though."

"Ah, sweet Uriel," Gabriel smirks, "How is he these days?"

"The size of a refrigerator with the personality of one," Dean deadpans, getting to his feet and coming to stand next to Castiel. He has no idea why he feels suddenly uneasy leaving Castiel alone with Gabriel, call it a gut instinct, but something tells him the other man is hiding something.

Gabriel laughs openly, "I like you Deano, it's a shame we won't be seeing any more of each other."

"No?"

"No, I'll be heading back to Vegas as soon as my little chore here is complete."

"You live in Las Vegas?" Dean lays a hand on Castiel's shoulder, letting his fingers rest lightly against the smooth skin of his neck whilst maintaining eye contact with Gabriel.

"Yeah, if you're ever in the area you should look me up; I'm the proprietor of a charming little establishment just off the strip called 'Heavenly Delights'.

"Heavenly Delights?"

"Mhmm," Gabriel grins, "I'm in the entertainment business- a purveyor of exotic choreography of the nudist persuasion."

"So… you run a strip joint?"

"Absolutely."

Dean huffs a laugh despite himself, and shakes his head,

"I'll bear that in mind."

Carding his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Castiel's neck, Dean looks down to meet the wide blue gaze looking up at him,

"I'll see you soon Cas, ok?"

"You'd better," Castiel catches the hand on his shoulder, pressing a light kiss to the tips of his fingers.

Cupping Castiel's face between both hands, Dean reaches down and seals their mouths together softly. It's strange bidding farewell like this with Gabriel right there- showing any affection in front of an audience is unheard of for them, never mind in front of Michael's own brother, but the other man seems unconcerned, so Dean goes with it.

"Be careful Dean," Castiel murmurs against his lips, making a small sound in the back of his throat when Dean's tongue sweeps into his mouth for a moment before he pulls away.

"Always."

Straightening, Dean nods to Gabriel, "It was… interesting, meeting you."

"Likewise, Deano."

"Goodbye Dean," Castiel smiles up at him.

"Later Cas," Dean squeezes his shoulder lightly, stealing a quick final kiss, before making a swift exit.

Whilst Uriel may not be the boss, he doesn't need any awkward questions about where he's been.

(***)

"Dammit, Cassie… you've got it bad," Gabriel observes in amusement, watching Castiel's eyes follow Dean as he leaves.

Flushing, Castiel snaps his head around and smiles sheepishly.

"I know."

Shaking his head, Gabriel purses his lips, "You know when I first heard you'd gotten involved with Michael, I prayed it was a mistake." Castiel's smile falters, slipping slowly from his face. "After everything I told you about him… what were you thinking Castiel?"

"I didn't have a great deal of choice in the matter," Castiel mutters, gaze fixed on his lap.

"He forced you?"

"Not exactly- but you know him… he gets what he wants."

"I do know that," Gabriel sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"He treats me well," Castiel says quietly, feeling the need to explain this to someone, "It's just…"

"You don't love him?" Gabriel supplies.

"No. I don't."

"You realise how dangerous this thing you've got going on with Dean is though, don't you?"

"I'm well aware Gabriel," Castiel huffs, "I know how big the risks are. But I… I can't help it."

"Oh Castiel…" Gabriel shakes his head, frowning sympathetically at the hopeless tone to Castiel's voice. "I really hope you know what you're doing, then."

"I don't really," Castiel sighs, "It was never planned, it just… happened… and kept happening. And now the thought of giving it up, of giving Dean up…" He trails off, unable to articulate the feeling of icy dread that consumes him anytime he considers his life without Dean in it. They sit in silence for a moment, before Castiel continues hesitantly, "And you- you definitely won't tell anyone about us… will you?"

Gabriel frowns at the doubt layering Castiel's tone. His lips curve in a comforting smile but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, falling closer to pity than reassurance,

"No Castiel- your secret's safe with me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So there we are. I'm sorry again for the delay, I estimate it'll be about another four weeks until I can afford a new laptop, but I'll keep writing on paper until then, and steal some more time with his computer if I can!**

**As always let me know what you think of this chapter – your reviews help me so much!**

**On another note, I'm not really sure what's been happening recently on here with fics being pulled down etc. but as a precaution I've started accounts on both LJ and AO3 under wanda_thefish, and will be posting this story to them as soon as I figure out how to work them! So worst case, come and find me over there**


	12. Chapter 12

**Awesome news – my beautiful mother, wonderful lady that she is, agreed to loan me the funds for a new laptop and let me pay her back over the next few months. And so, of course, the first thing I'm doing with my shiny new computer is writing a chapter. Here – celebrate with me and have an update!**

**Warning: Minor character death**

* * *

><p>Trudging heavily up the stairs to his apartment, Dean clasps the handrail wearily, boots clattering on the pitted concrete steps. Exhaustion settles in his limbs, cold and dense, physical and mental fatigue dragging at him like lead weights.<p>

A cold beer- that's what he needs. Maybe a couple of shorts. A warm body to curl up with would be nice, but since that's out of the question, his friends Jim, Jack or James will have to suffice… anything to help numb his senses and clear his mind until he falls asleep and this goddamn day can just be over.

Was it really only this afternoon he was with Castiel? The other man propelling him to heaven and back with that luscious mouth of his before bending him over and taking him with a force as surprising as it was totally fucking awesome- hot and hard and sweet. Damn… it feels like he's aged years since then. Usually a memory like that would be enough to keep him grinning like an idiot for weeks, but after what he's seen tonight… well he's finding it kind of difficult to raise a smile.

'There's been an incident' Uriel had said.

An incident.

That's how he'd chosen to describe the deliberate razing of the Roadhouse with more than a dozen of the people he'd once called friends inside. Granted, for most of them he uses the word 'friends' in the loosest possible sense, but still- after pulling up to the smouldering wreckage and being forced to sift through the charred remains… it doesn't matter who they were now. They're gone all the same.

Another of Michael's jigsaw pieces fitting together to make his vast web of influence, the Roadhouse had been something of a hub for Di Angeles' men. As far as Michael's businesses go, it was one of the least important in terms of profitability, but its significance lay in the refuge it offered- walking into a hospital with a bullet wound is a sure fire way of landing yourself in the big house- innocent men rarely get shot… but you knew that if you could get to the Roadhouse, there'd always be someone on hand that could patch you up, no questions asked.

And so whilst not an obvious target, it would be a smart one. Dean has no doubt the attack was meant as a blow to Michael, first Virgil and now this- somebody's sending him a message.

From what Dean could determine, the culprit had gotten there early evening, sealed the doors from the outside and blown the gas canisters round the back… then stood back to watch the place burn. By the time Dean had arrived, the only thing that hadn't been reduced to a pile of ash was the sign- 'Harvelle's Roadhouse' sitting haphazardly amongst the smoking timber and seared corpses.

And Michael had wanted them to sort through it- like the cold-hearted bastard he is, he hadn't spared a thought for all the innocent people who'd been in there- civilians in the wrong place at the wrong time, no- all he'd cared about was the bottom line, the numbers. How many men had this cost him?

Dean isn't squeamish; he's dealt with death his whole life- dealt it out himself enough times… but having to identify more than twenty blackened bodies is something that will haunt him for the rest of his life. The sight of all those burnt figures, some red, as though raw with sunburn, some charred beyond all recognition… and the _smell_…

That's not something he's likely to forget in a hurry.

Before he found her, Dean had been idly wondering what Michael would do to the person responsible when he found them. Michael would surely want revenge, had likely already started plotting, and Dean would probably be involved in some way or another…

But then he saw her-

Jo.

Almost like a sister to him, Jo Harvelle's father had worked alongside John since their children were toddlers. They'd grown up with the same case of hero-worship, and like Dean, she'd decided to follow in her daddy's footsteps, taking over the business when he died.

Dean had been helping Uriel shift the collapsed rubble of the bar top when he'd found her, almost unrecognisable beneath crumbled bricks and lumps of charcoal. Her face was blackened along one side, an angry puce on the other, her once beautiful blonde tresses singed to virtually nothing. Cradling her lifeless form into his arms, Dean had been overcome with a rage so sudden and so intense, he could practically taste it.

He knew there and then that he would be right beside Michael when the time came, happily taking apart the perpetrator piece by piece.

He'd make sure of it.

(***)

Finally reaching his own floor, Dean sighs at the thought of his cold lonely apartment, and wishes with all his might that just for tonight, Castiel could be with him. Despite his optimism regarding the whiskey, Dean knows he'll be lucky to find any peace this evening, and longs more keenly than he remembers ever having done before for the other man's weight, warm and solid and alive in his arms. He'd give anything right now to hold Castiel close and bury his face in the other man's skin, to replace the acrid stench of scorched flesh lingering in his nostrils with warm salt musk and cinnamon.

"Rough night?"

Reaching his front door, Dean almost jumps out of his skin when a voice addresses him out of nowhere. He whips his head around, glaring out into the hall and sees a dark figure lurking in the shadowy alcove opposite his apartment.

"Who the hell's there?" he demands.

"Now now Deano, no need to be rude." Gabriel smirks, stepping into the light of the hallway. "We're practically old friends now, you and I."

"What the-"

"Let's go inside, Dean…" Gabriel cuts off Dean's flustering with a wave, pulling the keys from the surprised man's fingers and nudging him aside to open the door.

"… We need to talk."

(***)

* * *

><p>It's past midnight when a sound in the hallway alerts Castiel to Michael's return, a low rustling and soft click of the front door announcing his arrival.<p>

Marking the page of his book, Castiel places it carefully on the side table beside the lamp and looks over the low back of the chesterfield armchair he's draped across in time to see the other man stride into the room, tall and brooding.

He's spent the evening replaying the unexpected visit from Gabriel over and over in his mind, wracking his brain to come up with the best possible way to broach the subject with Michael, but when he sees the hard set of the man's shoulders as he heads straight for the brandy decanter, his heart falls- it's going to be difficult enough bringing up his estranged brother without Michael already being in a bad mood.

"Michael," Castiel greets him, warily watching as he pours himself a large measure, drains it in one, and refills his glass before seating himself heavily in the matching chair across the room

"Come here," Michael commands without preamble, pinching the bridge of his nose and beckoning Castiel to him with a slight incline of his head.

Uncurling himself and getting to his feet, Castiel crosses the room in a few short steps and comes to stand uncertainly before Michael, unable to gauge the man's mood as ever. Michael looks up and studies him for a moment before reaching out to grasp Castiel's hand and tug him forward, the smaller man landing unceremoniously in his lap with a small gasp of surprise.

"I've had a dreadful day," Michael mutters, pressing his face into Castiel's throat and snaking his hands beneath the smaller man's shirt to grasp his hips.

"O-Oh...?" Castiel stutters as Michael's teeth scrape his pulse point, the sharp points digging in just a little too sharply.

He isn't sure what constitutes terrible to a man like Michael… he doesn't think he wants to know. So long as it doesn't involve Dean.

"Mmm…" Michael continues mouthing at his neck, sucking sharply until Castiel can feel the blood rise to the surface in a dark purple smear. "There was an unfortunate mishap at one of my properties… terribly inconvenient."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Castiel murmurs, raising his arms at Michael's insistence to allow the other man to remove his shirt. Licking his way up to Castiel's mouth, Michael claims his lips in a harsh kiss, forcing his tongue inside, wet and dominating. Castiel makes a quiet sound as the breath is stolen from him, closing his eyes tightly and returning the embrace with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.

Pulling back, Michael's lips curve into a small smile, a predatory glint in his lust darkened eyes,

"Well then… maybe you should make me forget about it."

(***)

Lying in bed, weary and aching, Castiel studies the crown moldings around the ceiling, listening to Michael's breathing settle beside him and carefully considering his words. He knows this probably isn't the best time to tell Michael about Gabriel's visit, but he's too worried that if the man finds out some other way, Castiel will be in trouble for not volunteering the information sooner.

"I received an unexpected visitor today," he murmurs eventually, turning onto his side and tucking the sheets under his armpits, watching Michael warily.

"Hmm?" Michael drags sated eyes open, fixing them with some effort on Castiel. "Who?"

Castiel chews his lower lip nervously, struggling to steel his resolve now that he's started.

"Who was it, Castiel?" Michael's voice hardens as he rouses himself, becoming aware of Castiel's anxious state.

"Your brother," Castiel whispers, bracing himself for Michael's reaction.

He expects surprise… anger, annoyance, loathing- anything except what he sees- blatant shock mingled with a flash of… was that fear?

"My… brother?"

"Yes. I was at the gallery this afternoon when out of the blue, Gabriel just showed up."

Castiel isn't sure if he imagines it, but he almost thinks he sees a flicker of relief at the mention of Gabriel's name, like Michael was expecting to hear something else. He blinks in confusion before dismissing the thought- its not as though Michael could have though he was talking about anyone else.

"Gabriel," Michael repeats the name, tongue curving distastefully over the syllables. He pushes himself upright and sits back against the headboard, "And what did he have to say for himself?"

"He wanted me to give you something." Castiel slides out of the bed, bolstered my Michael's so far lack of admonishment, and pads over to his overcoat, slung carelessly across the ottoman. When he turns back with the small parcel, barely the size of a cufflink box, Michael's gaze zeroes in on it.

"Did he tell you what it was?"

"No," Castiel admits, coming to sit on the edge of the bed and holding out his hand timidly, "Only that it was something that had come into his possession, and that he thought you should have it."

"Hmm," Michael makes no move to take the package, merely looks at it in Castiel's outstretched palm, as though expecting it to sprout legs and walk towards him. The seconds stretch on into minutes, and Castiel's muscles start to ache, but still Michael remains still, until eventually Castiel shifts forwards, as if to place the box directly into Michael's hand.

Castiel doesn't see it coming, but he's barely moved an inch when, in a series of swift movements, Michael has grabbed the parcel with one hand and seized Castiel's wrist with the other, a loud crack sounding as the small item hits the far wall abruptly.

"Do you not remember Castiel, what I told you all those years ago, about speaking that man's name?"

Twisting his arm sharply, Michael forces Castiel face down on the bed, one knee pressing harshly into his spine.

"That man is a traitor to this family, and no brother of mine. I will accept nothing from the likes of that lowlife."

"I'm sorry," Castiel gasps, tears springing to his eyes as Michael bends his arm so far up his back, his shoulder joint creaks in protest. "I'm so sorry Michael… I didn't know what to do… he just showed up out of nowhere…"

In a moment, the burning pressure is released, and Castiel feels warm breath on the back of his neck as Michael leans over him.

"It's ok Castiel, I forgive you."

Michael rolls him onto his back, picking up his wrist and pressing damp kisses to the tender flesh. Castiel looks up at him, face pale and tear stained.

"There there," Michael lifts a teardrop from Castiel's cheek with his fingertip, considering it for a moment before sucking the salty bead into his mouth. "I understand it's been a long time. But you remember now, don't you? How I feel about you talking to that defector."

"I understand," Castiel gulps, "I won't forget again."

"I know you won't," Michael shuffles them so they're the right way up again in the bed, laying the younger man's head onto the pillow with uncharacteristic gentleness, "And you'll tell me right away, won't you, if he tries to contact you again?"

"Of course."

Softly kissing his forehead, Michael smiles fondly at Castiel, and man marvelling how he can look at him like that when mere minutes ago he was inches from breaking his arm.

"Sleep now, my love."

(***)

* * *

><p>"So… what do you want?" Dean hands Gabriel a beer then opens one for himself, chugging half the contents in a series of long swallows before meeting Gabriel's gaze. Dean's expression is well schooled and impassive, but his hands toy with the bottle, peeling the label and rolling it between his fingers in a subtle indicator of his agitated state.<p>

"I haven't got long, so I'm not going to beat around the bush," Gabriel looks Dean squarely in the eye, "I want you to end it with Castiel."

Dean has just lifted his drink again to his lips but at Gabriel's words he freezes, staring open-mouthed at the other man,

"You… what?"

"You heard me Dean," Gabriel's jaw is taught, the mischievous twinkle in his eye from this afternoon nowhere to be seen. "This thing between you, I think you should break it off."

Dean just stares, unable to quite comprehend what he is hearing. The audacity of this man- to come into his home and then drop _this_ on him. The bastard- he'd made them think it was going to be ok… he'd even made Cas _glad_ to see him.

"I thought you didn't care about your brother?" He speaks through clenched teeth, focussing only on Gabriel's motivations and dismissing any notion of actually answering the demand. He ignores the way the he feels suddenly cold and nauseous- everything in him shying away from just the mere _idea _of not being with Castiel.

"I may hate Michael's guts, but don't ever suggest that I don't care," Gabriel snaps, "He's still family."

"But this afternoon…"

"Never mind that, it's not for Michael's sake I'm doing this anyway. It's Castiel's."

Glaring in incredulity, Dean fights the urge to just kick the short man out of his apartment,

"And how do you work that one out?"

"Come on Dean, you know Michael as well as I do, have either of you really thought about what will happen when he finds out… and I say 'when' not 'if'- you might have been lucky up until now, but it's only a matter of time."

"We're careful," Dean says quietly, disliking the way Gabriel's words resonate with a ring of truth.

"Not careful enough- I walked in on you, didn't I? That could just as easily have been Uriel or one of the others, not to mention Michael himself."

Dean knows this, in fact he'd thought of nothing else all the way to the Roadhouse. But knowing a thing is different to true consideration of its implications.

"We both knew the risks when we got into this," Dean swallows, looking up at Gabriel, "We know what'll happen if we're caught."

"Oh I'm sure _you've _got a pretty good idea… but does Castiel?"

"Of course he does- he's lived with the guy for ten years." Dean snaps.

"That means nothing," Gabriel waves a hand dismissively, picking up the sweating bottle from the coffee table, taking a swig as he runs a finger through the circle of water left behind. "Michael's quite the charmer when he wants to be, and I'm sure Cassie's not the type to try and aggravate him… I doubt Castiel's ever seen what he does to people that _really _get on the wrong side of him."

"Look man- you don't know shit, ok? You don't know what your dick of a brother has done to Cas… I think he's got a pretty good idea of what he's dealing with."

"Maybe you're right," Gabriel holds his hands up in surrender, "But you've worked with him, Dean. You've seen first-hand what he's truly capable of… has Castiel seen that?"

Reluctantly, Dean thinks back to the atrocities he's witnessed over the years… the woman who's eyes were burned out of their sockets when she tried to testify against one of Michael's cousins… the dock worker who'd been skimming the profits who'd had the Di Angeles family crest etched crudely into his chest with a Stanley knife then been left to bleed in that deserted warehouse until the rats came and finished him off…

Michael was nothing if not imaginative.

"Well?" Gabriel prompts, raising his eyebrows knowingly as he watches the shadows of past horrors flicker across Dean's face.

"No…" Dean mutters softly in defeat, "He doesn't know how bad it could be."

"And so you're willing to take it… if it comes to it? You're prepared to face whatever sentence Michael chooses to dish out?"

"Yes." Dean states firmly. Right from the beginning when he first took Castiel to his bed, he knew how high the penalty would be if they were ever caught, and he'd made that decision there and then that it was worth it.

"But are you prepared for Castiel to go through it?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said- are you prepared for Castiel to go through it? You know it won't just be you that Michael rips to shreds… it'll be your lover boy too."

And if there was ever a way to get Dean to do something he didn't want to do, it would be to make it about someone else. Pain is nothing to a guy like Dean, he can take it, threaten all you like and he'll laugh it off and come back for more.

But make it about someone he… cares about, and suddenly it's a whole different ball game.

Dean's stomach turns and he thinks he might actually be sick as an unbidden image of Castiel, strung up and bleeding like he's seen so many others, springs up behind his eyes.

Of course- of course he knew it was not just his own life he was risking- it was Cas's too… but he'd never thought of it in quite that way before.

Oh God no…

Gabriel watches sympathetically as Dean seems to collapse in on himself, running his hands through his hair then over his face. He remains silent for a long time, seemingly forgetting the older man's presence, moving only to fetch the Jack Daniels from the kitchen and bring it back without a glass, drinking straight from the bottle. Eventually, he looks up at Gabriel, his expression the hollow helplessness of a man staring out from his own grave,

"Why would you do this… what's it to you?"

"Castiel was a good friend to me once; I owe it to him to look out for him."

"He has me for that."

"But what if you're the one he needs protecting from?"

Dean starts at that, opening his mouth to protest, but Gabriel silences him, getting to his feet and speaking instead,

"Maybe it's not my place to say, but for the sake of my own conscience I couldn't leave without putting it out there. The two of you have had this secret for so long, maybe it's clouded your judgement- maybe it's time you had someone outside offer a little advice."

"And that's what you're doing," Dean sneers, "Offering some friendly advice? And if I tell you to fuck off, what then? You going to let it go?"

Standing over him, Gabriel cuts a more imposing figure than Dean would have thought possible of the short man, the flash in his eyes and authority in his tone reminiscent of his older brother,

"I'll keep your secret Dean, I promised Castiel I would, and I won't go back on that. All I'm doing here is giving you my opinion, what you do with it is your choice."

"Some choice," Dean huffs, taking another mouthful from his bottle and scowling when he finds it almost empty.

"If you decide to ignore me, I won't do anything to stop you. And hell- maybe I'm wrong, maybe you two will manage to keep this up indefinitely, all I'm saying is- I doubt it. In my experience, no one manages to keep anything secret from my brother in the long run. Believe me- I know."

"I'll bear that in mind," Dean mutters bitterly, getting to his feet to show Gabriel out.

"But know this," Gabriel turns at the door to face him, "If it comes down to it, Castiel won't be the one to make the choice, he'll never be able to make the decision to give you up… that'll be down to you."

"And if I can't do it either… if I can't give him up?"

Gabriel narrows his eyes and considers him for a moment, before his brow smooths and he smiles sadly,

"I think you could, if it was for him."

Dean huffs doubtfully, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the edge of the door as Gabriel moves past him into the hallway.

"Just think about it Dean, it might be difficult now, but think about the future – how long do you honestly think you can keep this up?"

"Whatever man, just leave me alone, ok?"

Gabriel dips his head in acceptance, buttoning up his jacket and making his way down the corridor,

"Oh, and Dean?" Pausing a few steps away, Gabriel turns back and catches him just before he closes the front door. "I don't know how much Michael lets on, but I'm telling you – pretty soon? Shit's gonna get real. Changes are coming my friend, and you're going to have to pick a side."

"What the-"

"Watch your back- that's all I'm saying. And be careful who you trust."

"The hell – that's it?" Dean scowls at Gabriel's retreating form as the man carries on down the corridor.

"See you around Deano-" He lifts a hand, not looking back. "I hope everything works out for you… really, I do."

Dean watches until Gabriel rounds the corner, then hears the man's steps echoing from the stairwell as he makes his way down to the parking lot. Backing slowly into his apartment, Dean closes the door and locks it, before falling heavily back against the cheap wood.

He can't quite believe that just happened. Just when he'd thought his day couldn't get any worse…

Collecting his whiskey bottle and heading towards the bedroom, Dean tries to block Gabriel's words from his mind.

The majority of his psyche champions the idea that he should just get shit-faced, pass out, and hopefully be so hung over tomorrow he'll forget this night ever happened. But a small whisper in his head- small but insistent, voices the opinion that maybe Gabriel could be right- maybe it would be better for Cas, and him, if they weren't together anymore.

Despite the overwhelming anguish this thought provokes, he can't quite manage to squash it. Like a rotten seed it takes root, growing slowly, worming its poisonous tendrils around everything he feels for Cas until he can't be sure anymore what's right or wrong.

For the first time… he has doubts.

Falling into an uneasy inebriated slumber, Dean dreams of blood and flames; ocean blue eyes glowing red as they're consumed by fire.

He wakes with sweat on his brow and Castiel's name on his lips.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So... any thoughts? Questions? Criticism? (of the constructive kind please!) Please keep me informed people, a few words go a long way!**

**Sorry to anyone offended by how I'm portraying Gabriel, but if you think back to the show, he isn't exactly helpful until later on… (make of that what you will!)**

**Aaand- there's going to be quite a gap before the next chapter- sorry, but I'm off on vacation as of Friday for three weeks (yippee!) I'll try and get something up as quick as possible when I get back, just to whet your appetites- I'm planning on writing the actual start of Dean and Cas's relationship into the next chapter, so stay tuned! **


	13. Chapter 13 - Part One

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN – PART ONE**

**So- I'm back….. *fidgets sheepishly***

**I don't really have words for how sorry I am I've left this hanging so long, I just hope you'll understand when I say I've had some shit to deal with and it's taken me a bit of time to get back into the right frame of mind to be writing- and that I hope you'll accept my humble apology in the form of this long over-due chapter!**

**A couple of quick notes - In previous chapters I've had the flashbacks in italics, but as this one is the whole chapter it seemed unnecessary. Also this chapter is turning out crazy long, so when I hit the 8000 word mark I decided to split it - part two should be up within the week.**

**Lastly, editing has been minimal because I didn't want to delay this any longer – so you'll just have to forgive any glaring mistakes or fits of rambling… it's been a while**

* * *

><p>Dean is… frustrated.<p>

It's been five months, one week and four days (but who's counting?) since he last had sex, and he's pretty sure he's radiating enough sexual energy to power the entire eastern seaboard. It's like, there are dry spells, and then there are fucking biblical droughts – he's gone from a healthy three times a week average to nothing- zero…zip… nada.

Waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to like his millionth consecutive case of morning wood, Dean sighs resignedly as he trudges to the shower to take care of it, knowing full well the solo relief will be only marginally satisfying- a temporary reprieve.

What he really needs is a good hard fuck.

Talking his way into bed has always come as second nature to the young gangster- utilising his self-proclaimed devilish good looks and natural-born charm on anyone that catches his eye. He isn't particularly picky, doesn't have any specific types or kinks- any guy with a decent face and a hard body will do … personality optional.

Yet lately his bed has been empty, and the nights he doesn't spend passed out on the pool table at the Roadhouse consistently end alone at his apartment with a bottle of JD and his platinum member subscription to man-orama. com.

It'd be funny if it wasn't true.

The really depressing part is that Dean knows exactly what his problem is, there just isn't a damn thing he can do about it.

It all started the night of the gallery opening.

Following his run-in with Castiel, Dean had been left agitated, on edge, and not a little turned on. Needing to clear his head and get some distance, he'd skipped out on the gala, stopped off at home to lose the monkey suit, then headed straight out to one of his usual haunts. Within twenty minutes of arriving he'd gotten talking to some guy, buying him a drink and going through the motions at break-neck speed.

Everything was running according to plan- a brief exchange of pleasantries, a not-so-subtle proposition, followed by the inevitable tumble into a vacant stall… it was all going so smoothly. That is of course, until Dean had opened his eyes mid-blowjob and looked down to find that the brown gaze of the guy kneeling on the grubby bathroom floor didn't match the blue one he had been imagining, and promptly lost his erection.

He'd made a pretty swift exit after that.

From then on, it had only gotten worse. Dean had found himself unconsciously weighing up every potential bed-mate against the damn blue-eyed bastard, invariably finding them lacking. He'd wave guys away with internal excuses of "too tall", "too blonde", "too built" until he couldn't even kid himself anymore that he wasn't really just thinking "not him".

So yeah, after five months (one week and four days) of being unable to get laid because he can't get it up for any guy that doesn't measure up to his boss's fucking boyfriend, frustrated is putting it mildly.

Of course, it doesn't help that he's pretty sure Castiel wants him too.

(***)

Castiel is… confused.

Almost six months have passed since the night of the gallery opening and the brief… incident, with Dean Winchester, yet despite numerous sleepless nights and hours spent pondering that evening, he still doesn't quite understand what actually happened.

A serious person by nature, Castiel has always considered himself perfectly level-headed, sensible through and through. Never one to be taken by wild flights of fancy or whimsical notions, practicality has always been his foremost consideration … though lately, rational thought appears to have taken a short vacation, with the hours he's spent thinking about the encounter, and about Dean by extension, seem to have had a strange effect on him.

Take today for example; having decided it high time he sorted through the stack of applications he's received for his assistant position, Castiel had arrived early at the gallery, fully intent on getting the task done. Settling himself with the folder of resumes within easy reach of the coffee pot, he had made a good start, separating the first half into piles of 'Yes', 'No' and 'Maybe'.

After a while a developing crick in his neck prompts him to stop, and it is then, in the few minutes he takes to stretch his legs and his thoughts are unoccupied, that his brain takes the opportunity to slip through the well-worn gears and push Dean back into the forefront of his mind.

It's getting irritating how often it does that.

As always, his thoughts meander between two paths; the evening at the gallery… or Dean's behaviour since that night. Because something has definitely changed- and Castiel is starting to get an uneasy feeling that he knows exactly what it is.

Being in a relationship for over five years, Castiel had always assumed he knew all there was to know about attraction- despite his age Michael takes good care of himself, and is handsome enough that Castiel can find some measure of gratification in their intimacy whenever the older man cares to let him. Castiel may not have the string of lovers under his belt most people his age seem to have accrued, but still, he has never thought of himself as naïve. He'd at least thought he had the experience to recognise lust when he came across it.

As it turns out, he'd been wrong.

All the years he and Dean had spent fighting each other with snarky comments and sly digs, he had never really stopped to examine the nature of the tension between them. It had been easy to dismiss the other man as a prejudiced asshole, and the heat that he felt in his gut whenever the man was around as anger or irritation.

But that night something had changed, just for a moment Dean's guard had slipped, and behind that veil of contempt Castiel swears he saw a vulnerability he had never expected… and with that everything else had been forgotten.

The moments that followed are a blur, even after hours of deliberation he isn't quite sure how they went from glaring daggers at each other, to their lips almost touching, bodies warm and softening against each other… he honestly doesn't know what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted.

And now everything is different. Gone are the snide remarks and masked insults, replaced instead with quiet greetings and hesitant half smiles. Uncertain of this new truce between them, Castiel has been trying to maintain his usual indifference, but finds it increasingly harder not to respond; and each time he offers an answering smile or a few shy words, he sees something in Dean's eyes grow a little brighter.

Occasionally he wonders if the whole thing isn't just in his head, whether the softly murmured 'hey Cas' that rings in his ears means anything at all, or if the fingertips that brush the small of his back whenever Dean holds open a door for him are just in his imagination. But then he'll catch Dean watching him, and though he can't name his expression, the feeling it engenders is becoming clearer every day.

Maybe this is how it feels to be seduced.

So yes, he'd thought he understood desire- but after five or so months of enduring a new kind of tension between Dean and himself, five months of this sharp bright feeling that makes his stomach clench and his heart rate speed whenever he so much as thinks about the other man, making everything he's ever felt for Michael pale into insignificance… he realises he'd known nothing.

(***)

Once he's jacked off in the shower as quickly as possible, to a brief fantasy that may or may not have featured one Castiel Novak in the starring role, Dean dresses quickly before throwing down a scalding cup of coffee, slamming his apartment door and stomping down the stairs to the Impala.

The morning's errands are uneventful and the time passes quickly, until just a little before noon, Dean's stomach alerts him to the fact that the bacon roll he picked up a few hours ago wasn't nearly enough to keep him going all day. Spotting a small road-side diner, he judges he has time to grab some food before heading to the club, so pulls over, parking the Impala and grabbing his cell and wallet from the glove-box.

He hasn't been sat in the booth for thirty seconds when his cell starts to ring. Trying to catch the eye of the passing waitress, he glances at the caller ID before answering,

"Hey Dad, what's up?"

"Where the hell have you been Dean? I've been calling you for over an hour!"

"Huh?" Dean takes the phone away from his ear and looks down at it, only now noticing with bemusement the small blinking icon announcing new voicemail, "Oh yeah, sorry man, I had a few jobs to take care of for…"

"Never mind that," John Winchester snaps, "Listen to me Dean, this is important…"

Drawn up short by his father's tone, Dean falls silent and listens, his expression turning first from confusion to shock, then finally paling in fear.

"You got that son?"

Having waved away the approaching waitress and slipped quickly out of the booth, Dean is already jogging back to the car when John finishes speaking, throwing himself behind the wheel and peeling out of the parking lot with a squeal of brakes and the smell of burnt rubber,

"Yes sir," Dean mutters, focussing intently on the road as he runs a red light. "I'm on my way."

(***)

Finding it too much of a struggle to keep his attention on the task at hand with thoughts of Dean Winchester interrupting his concentration, Castiel gives up on the job applications and decides to occupy himself instead with reviewing the new pieces he's recently purchased. Some of them are ready for display but he knows a few will require a little attention before he puts them up for sale.

After locking the main entrance door, he heads up to the small attic he's been using as storage armed with a camera, tape-measure and notepad. An old transistor radio that was there when he bought the building sits in one corner, and with some gentle coaxing he manages to find WQXR, filling the airy space with the sweet strains of Beethoven's Violin Concerto.

The task is straightforward but absorbing, and before he knows it, hours have passed and the bright beams slanting through the skylight attract his attention to the high angle of the sun. Surprised with how quickly it has reached midday, Castiel sits back on his heels, wipes a shirtsleeve across his brow and surveys his morning achievement with satisfaction.

Deciding it's a good time to stop for lunch, Castiel pushes himself to his feet and brushes the dust from his knees, crossing the attic to turn off the radio. With a quick flick of a switch Haydn's Philosopher is brought to an abrupt end… and it is only then, in the sudden vacuum of silence left behind, that he hears it- quiet but distinct… a crunch of broken glass…

And the unmistakeable sound of footsteps on the entrance hall's parquet floor.

(***)

"Come on… come on!" Dean snarls in frustration, hammering on the steering wheel with the heel of his hand as he is forced to pull to a stop and wait for a delivery truck attempting a three-point turn in a narrow street.

"Pick up godammit!" He holds the cell to his ear, trying the gallery for the tenth time. The line rings out and he growls in agitation, tossing the phone onto the front seat beside him.

It doesn't mean he's too late, he tells himself.

It doesn't.

(***)

Frozen in horror at the open attic door, Castiel's heart races as he listens for any further sounds. There's someone downstairs. Somebody has broken through the door in broad daylight, and is now in his gallery. A low hum of voices reaches his ears and it chills him to realise there is more than one.

"Ground floor's clear," one voice mutters, followed by the alarming creak of someone on the staircase. Retreating fearfully back into the attic, Castiel shuts the door carefully and glances around frantically for an escape he knows is not there. His eyes light on the crowbar he'd been using to open the crates and he grasps it like a lifeline, holding on tight as he stands behind the door.

Taking a few deep breaths, he struggles to calm his thundering heart, cursing the fact that he left his cell is in his jacket downstairs, and there is no phone line up in the attic.

He prays they are just petty thieves taking a chance on what they believe to be an empty property. If this is something to do with Michael, the implications are so much more sinister.

He'd realised in an abstract way, the possible danger his relationship could put him in… but he'd never really taken it seriously. Even when Michael had given him a small revolver and insisted he know how to use it, he had complied merely to placate the man, then stowed the gun safely in his sock drawer and promptly forgotten about it.

Probably not his smartest move.

Holding his breath, Castiel waits with adrenaline coursing through his veins, and prays by some miracle he manages to fend off whoever comes in long enough to get past them and escape. Straining his ears for any indication of movement below, he thinks perhaps he hears a shout, some muffled banging, more broken glass… and then his heart stops.

Footsteps on the attic steps.

This is it.

Holding onto the crowbar so tightly his knuckles scream in protest, Castiel braces himself, locking his knees to stop them from trembling and clenching his jaw tight. There is a moment of silence, a moment when he thinks perhaps he was mistaken, but then the door handle suddenly rattles and he jumps, biting his lip sharply to stop the small whimper of fright from escaping. Castiel stares, eyes wide, as the door opens a crack beside him, before swinging wide and leaving him concealed in its shadow.

A couple of heavy steps, and he's no longer alone.

A tall figure encased in a heavy brown coat edges into the room, back facing Castiel. Steeling himself, Castiel lifts the iron bar slowly above his head, knowing this is his only chance. Taking a deep breath he makes his move and darts forward.

Unfortunately the building is old, and to his utter dismay, Castiel's first step lands on one of the many loose floorboards, letting out a squeak that seems deafening in the silent room. In a flurry of movement that's too quick for Castiel to comprehend, his intruder whirls around and a strong hand catches his wrist as he moves to strike, twisting it around until he drops the crowbar with a yelp. He falls backwards, instinctively grasping onto the leather coat of his attacker to break his fall with little success, instead pulling the other man down with him.

And then Castiel is on his back, a solid weight landing on top of him with a grunt, and he finds himself looking up into a pair of angry green eyes,

"Jeez Cas, you trying to kill me?"

(***)

"You ok?" Dean asks for the fiftieth time, fidgeting in his seat and glancing sidelong to where Castiel has been sat, motionless for the last half hour, in the passenger side of the Impala.

"Yes." Castiel answers shortly- the same answer he'd given every other time.

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the road with a huff. Plucking a random tape from beneath his seat, he jams it into the stereo without looking and cranks up the volume,

"Ok Cas, whenever you're ready to talk, you just let me know."

Castiel remains silent, staring out of the passenger window as some rock band, Metallica he thinks, thrums loudly in his ears. He watches the trees as they fly past, chewing on a finger nail and feeling the adrenaline and shock slowly begin to dissipate from his body.

"Where are we going?" he asks eventually, as though suddenly noticing they've been driving all this time.

"Not sure yet," Dean keeps his eyes on the road, "Figured I'd just put some distance down, then find a motel or something to hole up in."

"Excuse me?" Castiel sits bolt upright, staring wide-eyed at Dean. His heart starts to pound in panic, "You're taking me to a motel…have you lost your mind? Turn around and take me home before Michael finds out!"

"Chill Cas, he knows what we're doing, I text my dad as soon as we got on the road."

"But why?" Castiel splutters.

"We should skip town at least until Dad and Mr Di Angeles are back from Chicago, just in case those guys have more friends who wanna try something."

Castiel gapes,

"Try something like what?"

"Err, did you not hear what I told you before?" Dean turns his head incredulously, "Maybe something like those dickwads who just broke into your place and tried to kill you?"

Castiel tilts his head and frowns at the younger man. Ah yes, Dean said something like that before as he was bustling him out of the gallery and into his car. He'd never pegged the younger Winchester for such a drama queen.

"So you say."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Dean's response is immediate, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.

"No," Castiel glances back to the younger man and rolls his eyes at his expression of outrage. Dean's agitation when he reached Castiel at the gallery tells him enough about the man's sincerity, but Castiel finds it hard to believe as more than an exaggeration. "But how do you know? Surely they were just a pair of random thieves, hoping to get lucky with a cash register or something?"

"Look I just know Cas, alright? Those guys weren't there to score a couple of dimes or some Van Gogh knockoff… they wanted you dead."

The conviction in Dean's tone is chilling, and Castiel takes a moment to re-evaluate, thinking over the past hour a little more thoroughly.

"You're sure of that?"

"Yes." Dean's answer is blunt and final.

"But you stopped them."

"Yes."

A sudden thought occurs to Castiel, and his stomach churns uneasily.

"Did you hurt them?"

The silence says it all. Castiel watches Dean's hands tighten on the steering wheel, the muscle in his jaw ticking rapidly before he answers quietly,

"… yes."

It takes a moment for Castiel to process this, but as the revelation settles within him, it doesn't bother him as much as he thinks it should. At least, not in the obvious way. His knowledge of Dean is fairly limited, but like his father, Castiel gets the impression that the man wouldn't do something for no reason.

When he speaks, he can tell his question is one Dean had been hoping to avoid,

"So tell me Dean, how is it that you came to be at the gallery at exactly the right time to help me?"

Swallowing heavily, Dean rubs back of his neck awkwardly with one hand.

"Like I said, I happened to be passing, and saw the broken door…"

"Now you're lying." Castiel interrupts him, tone reproving and with no hint of uncertainty.

Dean opens his mouth to protest, but Castiel raises an eyebrow, silently daring him to try, and he quickly closes it again.

"What aren't you telling me Dean?"

Biting his lip roughly, Dean's uncertainty is mapped on is features and Castiel can see it plainly. "Please?" he prompts gently.

"Mr Di Angeles doesn't want you to know," Dean eventually mumbles, the words almost slurred by his reluctance to part with them.

Castiel takes a deep breath, struggling to maintain his composure while a familiar irritation beats a sharp pulse behind his eyes. It's always the same, Michael deciding who he's allowed to speak to, where he's allowed to go, and know what he's allowed to know.

"Doesn't want me to know what?" he asks, deadpan. When Dean avoids his glare and keeps on driving, his voice drops to a low growl, "I have a right to know Dean."

Rubbing a hand over his face, Dean turns to meet Castiel's gaze, and the older man can see his expression waver, before finally cracking in defeat. Slumping in his seat, Dean sets his eyes back on the road.

"Mr D's gonna kill me for this," he mutters, letting out a long a sigh, "Ok I'll tell you, but you got to promise not to freak out, ok?" Castiel remains silent, making Dean frown at him before continuing anyway.

"Fine, here's the thing… I don't know if you saw on the news, the riots over at Allenwood Penitentiary a couple of days ago?"

"Yes," Castiel says slowly, "I caught the headlines."

"Well they haven't released it yet, but apparently some of the inmates escaped, but it took so long to clear up all the mess and get everyone back in their cells, that they only just realised last night anyone was missing."

"My God," Castiel claps a hand to his mouth, "How awful!"

"Yeah… anyway, they've got some seriously nasty SOBs in that place…" Dean looks cautiously over to Castiel, "One of them being your dear brother-in-law-"

"Lucifer…" Castiel gasps in horror, realisation suddenly dawning. "He's on the loose?"

"No, no," Dean shakes his head, correcting him quickly, "They've got a separate wing for the serious psychos, supermax security, he's still safely tucked away."

"But…?"

"But the guys that did break out were some of his best buddies, including this one guy, Azazel they call him, who was Lucifer's right hand man."

Dean gives Castiel a minute for this to sink in, before he moves on,

"Anyway, I got a call from my dad this morning telling me all this, and saying I had to get round to your place pronto because you were in trouble."

"Why you?"

"He said there was no one else Mr Di Angeles could trust, they were on their way back but they were still hours away." He turns a glare on Castiel then, "He also said they'd tried calling you but weren't getting any response."

"I was up in the attic most of the morning," Castiel grimaces sheepishly, "I didn't hear anything."

"That's what cell phones are for."

"So… how did they know I was in trouble?" Castiel steers him back to his original question. He watches the younger man grit his teeth, his expression darkening. "Dean?"

"He said Michael had just received a call from his brother." Dean grinds out.

Castiel swallows carefully, "And?" he asks tentatively. He can sense the answer won't be anything good, but he needs to know.

"Dad said it was mostly a load of cryptic bull… seriously the guys a total whack-job," Dean answers dismissively.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing really, just a pile of crazy. Something about walking free, yeah right- as if that's gonna happen… "

"What else Dean," Castiel huffs, getting impatient, "Come on, just tell me!"

Groaning reluctantly, Dean casts a quick glance at Castiel, only to be met with his unrelenting stare, "Fine… the last thing he said was something about using his new resources on the outside to repay an old debt- he said Michael took something from him that he cared for greatly, his freedom I'm guessing, and that he wanted to settle the score and show him what it felt like." Dean's voice lowers to a growl, and he speaks through gritted teeth,

"That's when he told Michael his people were coming for you."

* * *

><p><strong>So, I think everyone can guess where part two of this is heading, though hopefully when the time comes you won't find it too predictable<strong>

**Thanks to everyone still reading, if you forgive me for the impromptu hiatus, please show me with reviews!**

**Also, can I just say a huge thank you to everyone that messaged me over the last six months to enquire about this story – it was awesome to know there are people out there who care, and definitely got me writing again a lot quicker than I probably would have done! I love you guys**


	14. Chapter 13 - Part Two

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN – PART TWO**

**Ok, I think we've established by now that I'm a horrible liar, and totally incapable of keeping my promises about updates- so I'm going to stop making them. My life is a bit up in the air at the minute, but things are improving, and I am trying my best to be a little more consistent with chapters. Rest assured that whatever happens I won't be abandoning this fic, just please don't give up on me!**

**Anyway, continuing where we left off…**

* * *

><p>"This place is a dump," Castiel wrinkles his nose distastefully as Dean opens the door to the rundown motel room and he steps tentatively inside, taking in the dated décor and dubious stains on the carpet.<p>

"Sorry Princess," Dean pushes past him with a chuckle, dropping a small bag on the counter next to the hot plate and kettle which seem to be the extent of the advertised kitchenette, "Deal with it."

Considering the emotionally fraught couple of hours, Dean is feeling strangely buoyant. After taking a little time to mull over the information regarding the hit-squad, Cas had promptly shrugged it off, saying he had no wish to think about it, and the two had slipped into unexpectedly easy conversation. With everything that's happened, it seems strange to think they've never really spoken before, and he was surprised at how natural it felt.

"I don't understand," Castiel huffs, staring suspiciously at the bedspread before cautiously spreading his long trench coat over it and perching delicately. "You said Michael was on his way back from Chicago- surely he'll be in New York soon and I should go home?"

"Not so easy man, sorry. Mr D's calling the whole crew together and sending them after Azazel and the others… he said he wants you kept safely out of the way until all of them are taken care of."

Part of Dean is sorely disappointed to be missing out on a good old fashioned manhunt, but the bigger part is thrilled at the time it lends him alone with Cas… however ill-advised that may be.

"And how long will that take?" Castiel squawks indignantly, "I've got a business to run I'll have you know!"

"No idea," Dean smothers his gleeful smile and rifles through the bag, pulling out a bottle of unbranded whiskey, "Could be a while though." Weeks hopefully.

He searches through the cupboards and comes up with one chipped teacup, adding it to the tooth mug from the bathroom and filling both with a generous splash of amber liquid before offering one to Castiel.

"So this is Michael's plan?" Castiel raises an eyebrow, "Have you keep me here in this foul place for god knows how long while he gallivants about hunting down a group of men who may or may not even still be in the country?"

"Something like that," Dean grins, waving the glass in front of his face until Castiel snatches it from his hand. "But I wouldn't worry too much- they won't have gone far. Probably haven't have even left town never mind the country."

"Know that for a fact do you?"

"I know the type." Dragging the lone chair and small table across the room, Dean positions them opposite the older man and takes a seat. "They've got a job to do, they won't be going far until it's done."

"So you think they'll come looking for me?"

"Don't worry sweetheart," Dean smirks, taking a sip of whiskey, "They won't find you… and if they do- I'll protect you."

"Very comforting, I'm sure," Castiel rolls his eyes, scowling at Dean's obvious amusement before throwing back his drink. As soon as the gasoline-like liquor hits his throat tears spring to his eyes and he splutters, coughing at the fierce burn. "Jesus Christ, what is this stuff?"

Dean can't help but laugh at the expression of shock on his face as he gets his first taste of Bobby's finest.

"Just a little something a friend of mine cooks up," Dean answers with a grin, "Hunter's Helper he calls it."

"Is he a hunter?"

"Not strictly speaking."

"So why the name?"

"Long story," Dean shrugs, "But it'll put hairs on your chest, I'll tell you that."

Leaning forward to top up Castiel's glass, Dean considers the other man for a moment from beneath his lashes,

"So… looks like we got some time to kill." He murmurs softly, "I'd say this was a perfect opportunity to get to know each other a little better, wouldn't you?"

(***)

Castiel thinks the sight of Dean laughing might possibly be the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. The other man is in the middle of recounting some tale about his younger brother, his eyes bright and smile wide, and Castiel is in awe of the love and devotion which pours out with every word.

"So where is he now- your brother?" Castiel asks, partly just to keep Dean talking, but also with genuine interest. He thinks he'd like to meet this man someday, who can put a smile like that on Dean Winchester's face.

"Stanford," Dean is practically bursting with pride now, "Pre-law."

"Wow," Castiel smiles, duly impressed, "Your father must be so proud."

"Yeah, I guess…" the younger man's expression falters somewhat, and for a moment Castiel wonders what he has said wrong, before Dean shakes it off noticeably, "So what about you- any siblings?"

Now it is Castiel's turn to smile fondly, "I have a sister; Anna."

"Younger or older?"

"Younger," Castiel chuckles lightly, "But in many ways she was always so much more mature than me. We took care of each other when we lost our parents and then our aunt…" Castiel's smile fades and he looks down at his glass, "I miss her a great deal."

Without looking up Castiel can feel Dean's hesitancy in the question, "Where is she now?"

Castiel swirls his whiskey for a moment before tipping up the glass and emptying it down his throat, he notices distantly that the burn is becoming easier every time.

"Last I heard she was living in San Francisco," he holds out his hand for a refill, "We haven't been in touch in a long time."

Passing the bottle over, Dean's features twist with curiosity,

"So… what happened? Did you guys fall out or something?"

"No," Castiel sighs wearily, thinking back to the last time he saw his sister, to the imploring tears that had been her parting sentiment, "Not exactly. She didn't… approve, of my relationship with Michael."

Understatement - she'd begged Castiel to end it, pleaded with him over and over to leave the older man. But she didn't understand. And how could he begin to explain to her, how could he tell his little sister that he was too scared, how his own naivety had landed him in this situation with no hope of escape? He was her big brother; he was supposed to protect her. How could he do that when he couldn't even protect himself?

"That's it?" Dean asks incredulously, "You lost touch with your sister because she didn't like your boyfriend?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Castiel shakes his head slightly, "It's not so simple… she wanted me to leave with her when she moved away to college, she tried to persuade me, and Michael… he found out."

"I guess that didn't go over too well, huh?"

"Not exactly," Castiel huffs bitterly. He remembers that night all too well, shortly after he'd moved in with Michael, coming home to find his wretched uncle had eavesdropped on Anna and him and then gone telling tales. It was the only time he'd ever seen Michael lose control, the mob-boss like a man possessed, taking out his anger on Castiel's body until he screamed with agony, all the while telling him what would happen if he ever tried to leave.

"What happened?" Dean asks softly, his lips pursed in sympathy.

"Nothing I couldn't handle." The words escape Castiel's lips without his permission, and he thinks abstractly he must have drunk more than he'd realised. "But it was when he brought up Anna-"

"He threatened your sister?" Dean asks sharply, and Castiel looks up into his shocked expression. It surprises him that Dean would be concerned over this detail, surely he's seen far worse over the course of his work.

"Not in so many words..." But the intent was clear. It's clever how Michael can do that. "He said he didn't want her coming between us, so when the time came for her to leave, I did the only thing I could think of to keep her safe- I told her to go and not to come back."

Dean is quiet following Castiel's admission, brooding silently over his whiskey while Castiel studies the worn floral pattern on the wallpaper, wondering if he should regret sharing such personal details with one of Michael's employees.

"Why are you with him Cas?" Dean's question is sudden, and it brings Castiel's attention back to him with a jolt.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me- why are you with him?"

Swallowing heavily at the precarious turn in the conversation, Castiel shakes his head.

"Dean, I don't think this is really an appropriate topic for us to-"

"Do you love him?"

Dean's gaze is intense now, and when Castiel meets it, he finds it difficult to look away.

"That's really none of your business."

"It's a simple enough question," Dean leans forward and a sickly nervous feeling gathers in Castiel's stomach, "Do you love him?"

"I care a great deal-"

"That's not what I asked."

"What do you want me to say?" Castiel snaps suddenly beneath Dean's scrutiny. The younger man is pushing past all his carefully laid layers of 'It's fine' and 'I'm happy' and prodding at the vulnerable core beneath.

"I want you to tell me the truth."

The laugh that escapes Castiel's lips is borderline hysterical, "So you want me to tell you about how I'm stuck in a relationship with a man I don't love, because I'm too scared of what will happen if I try to leave?"

"Is that the truth?" Dean asks calmly, watching Castiel get more agitated.

"What does the truth matter?"

"It matters to me."

"What do you want from me Dean?" Running his fingers through his hair, Castiel glares at the younger man, "Will it make you feel better about all the money and the things he buys me if you hear about how empty my life is? Would you like to know how he took everything from me when I was seventeen and too naïve to know what was happening?" Without deciding it Castiel is on his feet, his voice rising as he paces in growing distress, "Or perhaps you want me to tell you how the whole loving boyfriend thing is just a farce, how he can make it seem as though he's the perfect partner when really I'm more like a possession than a lover. Or-"

"Whoa Cas, dude, calm down!"

Castiel turns mid-stride, a flush high on his cheeks, to see Dean standing holding his hands out as though calming a spooked animal.

Realising everything he has just blurted out, Castiel makes a small sound and claps a hand over his mouth.

"I have to get out of here."

Rushing towards the door, he reaches for the handle and is about to swing it open when a firm hand catches his wrist, pulling him back and turning him so his back is against the wall.

"Don't do that man," Dean's concerned face is suddenly so close that momentarily Castiel's vision is filled by a blur of green, "Don't you run out on me again."

Castiel looks between the depthless wide eyes focussed intently on him and can see the hazy image of his own ruffled reflection staring back. Dean's hand is still on his wrist and he focusses on the warmth of it, the tension seeping slowly from his body, leaving him feeling abruptly drained and weary.

"I never wanted any of this you know," he mutters quietly, in defeat.

"I know, and I'm sorry."

Frowning up at the younger man, he tilts his head, "What for?"

"I don't know," Dean shrugs, "Pick one. I'm sorry I was such a dick to you… I'm sorry your life sucks-"

"That's hardly your fault."

"Whatever, I'm still sorry," Dean's hands are on his shoulders now, holding him trapped with his earnest gaze, "But you don't have to carry on like this man, if you're not happy you should change things, take back some control."

"Have you just met Michael, Dean?" shaking his head with a sad smile, Castiel looks away, "He's not exactly just going to sit back and-"

"So you don't let him find out," Dean forces Castiel to look at him, "So you find something you want for yourself… and you go for it."

A slight hitch to Dean's voice betrays him, and Castiel finds his breathing growing uneven as he tries to decipher the intent behind the other man's words.

"You really think I could do that?" he murmurs, his voice coming out unexpectedly low and breathy. Dean's lips lift into a smile and Castiel's eyes are drawn involuntarily to the soft pink curve.

"I think you can do anything you want." The younger man replies softly. He pauses for a moment, before pressing subtly closer and whispering, "Why… is there something you want?"

Castiel shivers as Dean's warm breath skims his face, tasting of whiskey and something completely other… something dangerous and intoxicating. His common sense tells him that he should be running a mile right now, but the scent of the other man, and the heat of his body is muddling his brain in a way all those months of fantasy had never prepared him for. His skin is too tight and his heart pounds a drumbeat in his ears, a feeling of inevitability filling him. Swallowing dryly, Castiel forces his answer out in a shaky rasp,

"Yes."

With a small smile Dean leans closer still, his tip of his nose brushing against Castiel's ear, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise and his breathing to stop completely.

"Then take it."

Time stands still as everything else outside their little bubble of tension fades into blackness; the hum of someone else's TV through the paper-thin walls, the hiss and clank of the stone age pipework; it all disappears leaving Castiel's awareness restricted to the press of Dean's body, and the ragged sound of their breathing mingling in the small space that separates them.

Until there is no more space.

Lunging forwards, Castiel's hands fist into the collar of Dean's shirt and he clumsily presses their mouths together, lips moving frantically. The younger man staggers slightly under the weight of the attack, and takes a small step to compensate, effectively pulling away.

"Oh God," Castiel gasps, eyes flying open with panic as he feels Dean moving back, "I'm sorry- I didn't mean… I mean- I thought-"

"Cas," Dean pushes back into his personal space and silences him with a thumb pressed over his lips, shaking his head at the man's fearful expression. "Shut the fuck up."

And then he kisses him.

It's slow at first, a gentle exploration, Dean's mouth warm and sure against his own. Giddy with adrenaline, Castiel follows blindly, clutching at Dean's shirt as the dry passes of their lips gradually ease into something slick and hot and one of Dean's hands slips into his hair, feathering through the dark locks.

It's strange- kissing someone who isn't Michael. The movements of Dean's mouth are familiar, and yet completely foreign to him, the younger man's hold firm but careful. Dean cups his cheek, and it is only the slight shake to his hands that gives away how much he is holding himself in check as he licks coaxingly along the seam of Castiel's lips until the smaller man automatically parts them.

When their tongues meet, Dean lets out a deep groan and Castiel can feel the atmosphere change as he is held tighter and Dean thrusts into his mouth eagerly. Starting to pick up the pace, the younger man crowds Castiel into the wall, pinning his smaller body and kissing harder, deeper. Castiel tries to keep up, but he feels suddenly too hot, the wandering hands roaming his body making him uncomfortable and the tight embrace becoming more of a restraint.

Unconsciously he freezes, the hands on Dean's shoulders caught between holding on or pushing him away while a small vindictive voice in his head asks what he expected- Dean works for Michael after all; they're just the same.

But then Dean's voice, low and breathless and awe-struck, pierces his consciousness like a dart and silences it.

"God Cas, you taste so good…"

Nosing along his jaw, Dean presses light kisses behind his ear, down his neck, in the hollow of his throat,

"…you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this… don't think I even knew myself…"

Shivering slightly, Castiel opens his eyes and studies the other man's rapt expression. Dean moves slower now as he searches out Castiel's lips, kissing him once more before opening his eyes and smiling blearily,

"…can't believe I'm actually kissing you."

And there it is- the difference. Unlike Michael who wants to own him, to take him and control him and possess him…

Dean just wants him.

With the sudden clarity of understanding, a small sound escapes Castiel's throat as he realises what a fool he is being. Dean is nothing like Michael.

Drawing in a deep shuddering breath he pulls Dean closer and seals their lips together, giving himself over wholly. Castiel opens up in a way he never has before, he kisses freely with abandon, swallowing Dean's small gasp at his change in temperament along with the breathy moans that follow.

He is truly on fire now. His veins run with molten gold as he experiences an urgency the like of which he has never known. Acting on instinct, he reaches for the taller man's shirt, tugging it up and over his head so that Dean is stood before him, his smooth muscular chest rising and falling rapidly. Of their own accord Castiel's hands move to touch the expanse of golden flesh and the younger man lets out a low groan, hands reaching out to clutch at his hair and bring their mouths back together in a rough clash.

The kiss is not gentle, but this time Castiel revels in the desperation of it, the hunger with which he is devoured. He recognises now that as much as Dean takes from him, he offers of himself in equal measure… and it is startling to discover just how much more he suddenly wants to give…

(***)

The noise Dean makes when Castiel finally touches him would be embarrassing if he were mindful enough to notice it. For a minute he'd been unsure if the other man was really with him, but then he'd suddenly come alive, meeting his kisses with equal passion, taking the initiative instead of just following Dean's lead.

Castiel tastes like a storm in springtime, like rain and lightning and fresh dewy meadows, and Dean can't get enough. He licks into Castiel's mouth groaning when the other man's tongue curls around his own in a hot wet caress. His head is whirling and he's growing lightheaded, the pressure in his groin becoming more insistent.

Tearing his lips away eventually, gasping for breath, Dean flicks a glance in the direction of the bed,

"Shall we…?"

Castiel's answer is immediate,

"Yes."

Already having lost his own button-down, Dean turns his attention to Castiel's elegant though now rather rumpled, white shirt. He opens the buttons quickly as he backs the other man towards the bed, snagging the last one just before Castiel catches the backs of his knees and falls onto the mattress. He pauses a moment to look down at the other man, propped up on his elbows, shirt splayed open. He looks like sin itself. Lips swollen and eyes dark, his black hair is sticking up ridiculously, the flush of his cheeks bleeding down into a hectic patch of red on his chest.

Dean thinks it's probably the hottest thing he's ever seen.

"Come on," Castiel shrugs the shirt from his shoulders, exposing the pale creamy expanse of his torso and catching hold of Dean's hand to tug him down onto the bed. The smaller man immediately twists Dean onto his back, straddling his hips and leaning down to press their bare chests together. Dean groans at the heavenly feeling of skin on skin as Castiel rubs up against him, claiming his mouth in a fervent rush.

Castiel kisses like a dying man; clumsy and greedy, leaving no room for uncertainty. Sensing a need stronger than his own, almost bordering on desperation, Dean looks up to meet Castiel's feverish gaze, seeing the blue he's been dreaming about almost drowned in inky black pupil. It's as though now he has made up his mind to go through with this he is determined to reach the end game without pause for sweet words or ceremony along the way.

Dean reaches up to try and catch his lips, but Castiel just smiles and pulls away, sitting up and removing his belt before nimbly manoeuvring himself out of his slacks and boxers without ever leaving Dean's lap.

"Damn…" Dean's eyes almost bug out of his head as he takes in the sight of Castiel, now naked and breathless on top of him. He doesn't know where to look first- to Castiel's flushed penis, long thick and perfect, bobbing directly at eye-level, to the wild light in his eyes, or to the pretty pink mouth which is stretching obscenely around two of the older man's fingers… fingers which are now moving around to-

"Holy crap," Dean chokes, watching Castiel's brow crease in concentration as his hand moves purposefully behind him. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine they would get to this, and so quickly, but Castiel seems determined and hey, who's he to complain?

Dazzled by the speed things are progressing, unbelievably turned on himself, Dean takes his cue from Castiel. At the murmured "I'm ready", it is the work of a moment to unzip his jeans and release his throbbing cock, holding it steady as Castiel shuffles over him and sinks down in one smooth motion…

And then he's inside Castiel.

"Shit… oh, holy mother of… fuck…"

Its tight, so fucking tight… and hot like a furnace, the sudden pressure so powerful things almost come to a swift end as Dean lurches helplessly towards oblivion, just managing to claw himself back from the edge with gritted teeth and clenched fists.

Dean's never had trouble lasting, but the months of tension between him and Cas seem to have equated to the world's most epic session of foreplay, and now he's a teenager again, struggling to make it past the first touch. The sudden need to come is overwhelming, but Dean is determined that it's not going to end like this. Still, it takes a good two minutes of deep breathing and imagining Sam and Bobby in grass skirts and bikini tops before he can trust himself to crack an eyelid and take a peek at Castiel.

But then he does, and what he sees cools the fire in his blood much more effectively that anything he could have imagined.

The other man is clearly in pain. A lot of pain. Eyes squeezed shut and lips pressed into a hard grimace, his arousal which was so obvious before is now waning rapidly. Castiel shifts slightly and the way he winces, biting down on his lips to hold back a cry, makes Dean feel instantly nauseous.

"Shit Cas," Dean chokes, grasping the other man's narrow hips and holding him steady. "I'm so sorry, I thought you were ready."

Opening his eyes slowly and looking down curiously at Dean's earnest expression and solid grip, Castiel frowns slightly, "I am ready."

"But I'm hurting you."

Castiel scrunches his nose in bemusement, his blue eyes meeting Dean's as he smiles sincerely,

"It's ok Dean, I want to give you this."

Swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat, Dean catches a pale hand and brings it to his lips, "No Cas, it's not ok. I want this if you do- but I won't hurt you."

The look of confusion on the older man's face grows, and Dean realises with a jolt that he doesn't understand… this is what he _expects_. He suddenly wants to punch Michael right in his superior face.

But Castiel's eyes are on him, and he knows right away that there is something far more important that he needs to do.

Encouraging Castiel to move a little so that he can ease carefully out of him, shushing softly at the smaller man's hiss of discomfort, Dean rolls Castiel onto his back trying to ignore his bewildered expression.

Pretending like the last fifteen minutes never happened, he trails his hands carefully down the other man's side, willing him to relax and kissing him gently.

"How about you let me take things from here…"

He's going to make Cas feel so good he's going to forget his own damn name.

(***)

"Oh God, Dean… oh… oh…" Castiel's voice is a breathless sob, muffled by the musty pillow as Dean wrings one pleasurable sensation after another from his body. It feels like he's dying, drowning, caught in a whirlpool of ecstasy and unable or unwilling to reach for the surface.

Dean Winchester is a god, a sorcerer or some other unearthly being. His mouth is a thing to be revered, and there is magic in his fingertips; there is no other explanation for the power he is wielding over him, drugging his senses and setting his nerves alight.

It's intimate in a way he'd never imagined, being exposed so fully to Dean's complete attention as the other man plays his body with the skill of a musician, using tongue and fingers to turn him into a boneless mass, relaxed and pliable. So many delicious sensations are elicited from parts of him he didn't even know were sensitive, Dean surprising him again and again with an intuitive understanding of his body so scarily accurate it's almost clairvoyant.

Right now the other man has him on his hands and knees, shaking and gasping as a hot tongue laps mercilessly at the tight pucker of his entrance. Castiel had never understood before what would possess anyone to do such a thing, but after the first hot swipe his brain had effectively left the building, taking with it any doubt or inhibitions, and leaving only that thick wet appendage, circling his hole over and over, before dipping just slightly in.

Stroking and curling inside him, Dean's tongue breaches the tight ring easily, pushing moisture into his channel and stretching slowly but surely, until he can eventually add one, then two fingers alongside.

"Dean… Dean please… dear God…"

Unsure what he's asking for, but certain Dean can give it to him, Castiel pushes back unconsciously, wanting to feel more of that dexterous movement inside him.

Then Dean touches that spot, and Castiel's arms fail him.

Face-planting into the pillow with a cry and a shudder, he hears Dean chuckle quietly behind him, the younger man nipping gently at his buttocks whilst his fingers continue their gentle probing.

"You like that, huh?"

Dean mouths along his spine, plastering himself against the older man's back and continuing to widen him further.

Dizzy with arousal, Castiel mumbles an affirmative. His cock hangs heavy below him, leaking pre-come and aching for contact. He's never known a craving like it before, never felt such need, and with desperation he manages to make his throat work long enough to voice his desire,

"Touch me, Dean… God, please… touch me…"

Dean's breath catches and he groans, panting harshly against Castiel's ear,

"Damn Cas… you have no idea what you're doing to me," he slides one hand around the older man's waist, fingering his hipbones then combing slowly through the line of coarse pubic hair. "You're driving me crazy, you know that? You're so hot Cas, God… you're so fucking hot…"

And Castiel believes he is, then.

Pushing himself back up onto his knees and leaning back into Dean for support, Castiel reaches with uncharacteristic boldness for the hand which has paused just below his navel, and guides Dean's fingers to his arousal.

At the first firm stroke both men moan loudly, Castiel's eyes rolling back in his head at the incredible feel of Dean's calloused but gentle hand on him. The younger man returns his fingers to his entrance, slipping them easily inside and Castiel is blown away by the dual sensation.

He twists his head blindly and finds Dean's mouth, the other man kissing the breath from him despite the awkward angle. Dean's body is hard and firm behind him, and when he shifts he can feel his cock, hard and leaking, brushing the small of his back. It's wonderfully intense, better than anything Castiel has ever felt, and for a few minutes he revels in it, alternatively thrusting up into Dean's hand and pushing down on his fingers, but after a few minutes he realises it's not quite enough, he wants more.

"Dean?" Castiel croaks out, his voice hoarse and lower than usual. "I want…" he trails off, unsure how to voice his request, especially after earlier.

"What Cas?" Dean murmurs, mouthing at the back of his neck, "Anything."

Turning his head to meet him in a wet open-mouthed kiss, Castiel whispers against Dean's lips,

"I want you inside me."

Dean's breathing stops.

"Cas… " Pulling back slightly to meet the other man's eye, Castiel watches Dean search his face, obviously hesitant. The man looks wrecked, the hunger on his face making Castiel shiver with expectation, but fighting the longing is concern, and it warms Castiel inside, confirming his decision,

"I'm sure Dean."

"Ok," Dean breathes, unable to keep his voice steady, "Ok."

Claiming his mouth in a quick, firm kiss, Dean eases his fingers out of Castiel, the other man immediately regretting their loss.

"This might be difficult without any lube," he warns licking his palm and using it to slick himself up as much as possible, "If it hurts you have to promise to tell me and we'll stop."

"I promise," Castiel whispers.

Sitting back on his heels, Dean draws the smaller man against him, letting his cock rest against his stretched out hole.

Castiel sucks in a sharp breath at the feel of it, trembling in anticipation. Dean nuzzles his throat, his hot mouth brushing against his ear,

"Take it easy Cas," he kisses the other man's neck lightly, "Just go at your own pace."

So he does. Inch by inch, centimetre by torturous centimetre, Castiel slowly takes Dean inside of him. It's so different this time, his muscles giving against the slow stretch, the slick of Dean's saliva and pre-come easing the way. There's a little pain, of course there is, but the burn is nothing compared to what he's felt before, and the feel of Dean's lips, soft and encouraging against his skin, makes it easier to ignore.

It seems to take forever, the slow process suffused by much cursing from Dean, but eventually they are joined fully, shaking and sweating, as Castiel basks in the sensation of fullness he'd never appreciated before now.

"Fuck Cas," Dean mumbles into his neck, "Fuck…" The younger man's breathing is harsh and laboured, and Castiel enjoys the strained quality his voice has taken on. "Are you… can you move?"

In answer, Castiel takes a deep breath, rises on his knees until only the tip of Dean's cock remains inside, then slides firmly back down. Sitting a little deeper, this time the head of Dean's dick hits his prostate and Castiel cries out clenching tightly, hands flying to grip Dean's thighs. He repeats the motion, and then again, almost sobbing at the overwhelming feeling.

"God Cas," Dean gasps behind him, face pressed tightly into his shoulder, "Fuck… so good…

They fall into a toe-curling rhythm, Castiel moving with the help of Dean's hands on his hips, Dean thrusting up to meet him. The small part of Castiel that is still coherent wonders at how well they fit together, how easy it is, then Dean's hand wraps around his cock and all thought is impossible.

Turning his head Castiel catches Dean's mouth, the action of kissing lost in frantic breathing and a messy clash of tongues. Sweat forms between then, trickling down Castiel's back where Dean is pressed close as they grind together, knees braced on the crumpled sheets. His legs start to shake as he gets closer to climax, but Dean keeps him steady, one hand splayed across his chest holding him tight while the other strokes him firmly, catching the head of his dick with his thumb so often that Castiel sees stars.

A slight shift, and Dean finds the perfect angle to strike Castiel's prostate on every thrust… and it's all downhill from there.

"Dean… oh…" Feeling his balls drawing tight into his body, Castiel's head falls back onto Dean's shoulder, his fingers digging sharply into the younger man's thighs as his climax builds rapidly.

He's going to die. This time he's sure of it. No one can possibly feel this good and survive. Panting, burning, Dean pushes him higher, and Castiel decides he will happily pay if that is the price.

"That's it Cas," Dean breathes, muscles tight and straining, speeding the motion of his hand, "Come on… come for me…"

"Yes… oh Dean… God, Dean… "

And he's there.

Hitting the peak with one particularly hard thrust, Castiel is screaming as he tumbles over in a frenzy, coming spectacularly over his chest. Twitching and writhing he clenches fiercely around Dean's cock, hoarse shouts fading to incoherent mumbling as the powerful sensations assault him unrelentingly. Dean strokes him through it and Castiel barely notices the younger man following him into orgasm, thrusting deep and holding there with a growl and a shudder, splashing Castiel's insides with his release.

As the waves of pleasure subside, the two pitch forward, spent and breathless, and for a while all is silent.

(***)

Awareness returns to Castiel in fragments- the springs of the rickety mattress digging sharply into his spine… the draught from the window cooling the sweat on his skin… the warm weight of Dean at his side, a protective arm draped lazily across his waist…

It's flawed, but it's amazing.

For the first time ever, he doesn't feel pain or disquiet, but instead a glorious contentment. Warm and pleasant and lingering it washes over him, satisfaction beyond the physical release, a deep down of relief… he does still have his freewill after all. He knows he should feel shame, guilt at having given himself to another man, but there is nothing.

Turning to watch Dean, he smiles to see the younger man dozing quietly, his lips slightly parted, cheeks regaining their normal hue.

As though sensing the gaze focussed on him, Dean stirs, cracking one eyelid and squinting at Castiel, opening them properly when he realises Castiel is watching him.

"Hey," Dean mutters with a tired twitch of his lips, his voice rough and croaky. The sound of it sends a small shiver though Castiel and he smiles tentatively back. "How are you feeling?"

Castiel gives the question due consideration, taking stock of the new aches and stiffness in his body, and finding them not unpleasant.

"Good," he says conclusively after a moment. "Wonderful actually."

Dean chuckles and reaches across to drop a soft kiss on his lips,

"Me too."

He rolls onto his back and pulls the other man to him, Castiel settling on his chest, tracing patterns on the broad expanse of skin with the tip of his finger.

"I never knew… it could be like that." Castiel murmurs after a while keeping his eyes averted, a light blush turning the tips of his ears pink.

Dean doesn't answer, but the arm around Castiel's shoulders tightens and he presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"Is it always that way for you?" Castiel asks, propping himself on his elbow and looking at Dean curiously.

"What way?"

Castiel tries to figure out how to explain his meaning without making himself vulnerable. When they were together, Dean had been so… involved, almost as lost as Castiel himself, but he has a sudden unpleasant notion that this may be how Dean is during all his encounters. He thinks about the younger man's words in the midst of their passion, and dislikes the idea they may be something he has said to others.

"No, it's not always like that," Dean rescues him, seemingly able to hear his thoughts. He tugs Castiel so the smaller man is lying on top of him, and smirks cheekily, "Don't get me wrong man, sex should be fun- if you don't enjoy it you're doing something wrong. But…" his expression sobers slightly then, and he leans up, brushing his lips against Castiel's, nuzzling lightly into his cheek, "I don't know Cas, there's just something different with you, something special I guess-"

He trails off, seemingly embarrassed at the sentiment, but it pleases Castiel who smiles and joins their lips.

When they part, slightly breathless, Castiel returns his head to Dean's chest and thinks about the other man's words. He can't remember ever really enjoying himself with Michael. Sometimes he gets off if Michael's not too rough and he's allowed to touch himself, but he's never considered sex as anything other than a chore. If he had the choice to take it or leave it- he'd leave it.

But with Dean... even with come still drying on his skin, and a definite ache to his backside; he is already thinking about how much he wants to do it again.

"I think," Castiel begins slowly, feeling the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest beneath his face, "With Michael… it's wrong."

(***)

Standing beneath the pitiful trickle that was the best he could coax from the showerhead, Dean can't keep the wide grin from splitting his face. Never in a million years had he thought he would get this lucky, Castiel naked and sleeping in the next room, standing here after what was probably the best sex of his life. Who gives a fuck that the power shower's got the pressure of a leaky watering can?

Just thinking about it now sends a twinge of lust through him, every facet something to be stored and wondered at. He can't get over how responsive the older man had been, after that brief troubling interlude, how he'd given himself over to Dean and trusted the other man to take care of him. His body was incredible, slim and toned in all the right places, fitting against Dean like he was meant to be there. And the way Castiel had looked- all lost and debauched… and the noises he'd made… damn it was all just too perfect. He can't think about it anymore or round two will be over before it's even begun.

Turning off the shower, Dean has just started to towel himself off when he hears the opening to 'Smoke on the Water' sound faintly from the other room. He wraps the towel around his waist and opens the door to find Castiel sitting up and looking around groggily, adorably mussed with sleep. Reaching for his cell, he grins when the older man catches sight of him and his eyes widen, raking hungrily over his damp skin.

Winking suggestively, he turns his attention to the phone- he feels like he's been hit by a truck as he sees Michael's name flashing on the screen. Face falling immediately, he coughs a little, finding his composure before answering,

"Winchester."

(***)

Castiel watches Dean's smiling face become strained and sombre as he answers the phone, and knows instantly who he must be talking to. A spike of fear lances through him, but he quickly soothes himself that it is natural for Michael to call, he likely has news for Dean regarding their return to New York.

"How did it-" Dean's voice shakes slightly and Castiel's eyes flash back to him immediately, trying to decipher the expression on his face.

"Where is he?" Castiel notices a subtle tremor to Dean's hand, and the fear returns.

"I'll be right there."

Snapping his phone shut and dropping it in his bag, Dean starts pulling on his clothes, glancing briefly to Castiel and muttering,

"Hurry up and get dressed."

"What's going-"

"Just do it!" Dean growls, making Castiel jump. Swallowing a lump in his throat and fighting back the ridiculous urge to cry, Castiel gets up and grabs his clothes, taking them silently to the bathroom where he dresses quickly.

When he opens the door, he finds Dean fully dressed in the middle of the room, bag slung over his shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I assume we're leaving then," Castiel says flatly, trying to maintain some dignity and not let Dean see how confused and hurt he feels.

Dean drops his hand at the sound of Castiel's voice and Castiel is surprised by the pain in his expression.

"Cas, I'm sorry I snapped, I didn't mean it… I..."

"It's ok," Castiel says slowly, the tightness in his chest easing a little, gradually replaced by a new concern. Taking a step closer he is shocked to see Dean's eyes bloodshot and bright with unshed tears, and tentatively reaches up to touch his cheek, "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean turns his face and presses it into Castiel's palm, sighing heavily. When he looks back to Castiel, the older man finds himself looking into the eyes of a frightened little boy, scared and unsure,

"It's my dad Cas, he's been stabbed… they don't think he's going to make it."

* * *

><p><strong>Aaaaand- Done! Phew<strong>

**To all those hoping the story would be moving along a bit, I'm sorry, I just couldn't rush this. We'll be back to the present day with the next chapter though, so stay tuned**

**Thanks so much to everyone still reading and reviewing, you're stars for putting up with me! As always, reviews and PMs are much appreciated so please do drop me a line. Much love to all**


	15. Chapter 14

**Back to the present day...**

* * *

><p>"<em>You know I don't like meeting out in the open like this," the man hisses, glaring suspiciously towards the huddles of harassed looking moms watching their offspring scamper about the sun-warmed climbing frames. It's the first good weather of spring, the trees showing only the slightest hint of green and a definite bite still to the air, but the children tear about excitedly wrapped in their duffle coats and bobble hats.<em>

"_Chill out," the blonde woman rolls her eyes, patting the bench beside her invitingly. "No one's followed us- I've been here long enough to know."_

"_It's an unnecessary risk," he growls, scowling at a young mother with a pushchair as though she might be concealing a bazooka beneath the pink gingham blanket. _

"_Whatever," she sighs, "You're here now, let's just get this over with."_

_The man grunts but takes a seat, positioning his wide frame so he has a good view of the park entrance._

"_Fine. I assume you have instructions?"_

"_That's right," the woman twists to face him, draping her arm over the back of the bench and smiling slowly. "He told me to tell you everything is set, and to be ready."_

"_The final phase is complete?" he asks, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise._

"_All the arrangements have been made," the blonde shrugs, "It's just a case of waiting now."_

"_Well," the man whistles low under his breath, "That is good news."_

"_Yes," she sighs, humming contentedly. They sit in silence for a few minutes watching the busy playground before the woman glances sidelong to her companion. "The boss also wants to know how the recruitment drive's going."_

_The man lets out a dark chuckle, leaning forward and bracing his forearms on his thighs, "Only a few have failed to come around to my point of view."_

"_Good," the woman nods. She pauses for a moment, "And Winchester?"_

"_What of him?"_

"_Is he on board?"_

"_Who cares about that ape?" the man sneers._

"_He's good," she shrugs, "And he's Di Angeles' closest ally… the boss wants him."_

"_The man has the loyalty of a dumb dog," he scoffs, "He won't be turned."_

"_Then you'll have to persuade him." _

"_No." he says bluntly, "There's no way he'll betray Michael, and it'll only bring unwanted attention on us to kill him now."_

_Reaching into her leather jacket the woman pulls out a thick brown envelope and offers it to the man with a smug smile,_

"_Oh I don't think you'll have too much trouble getting him to cooperate."_

"_What's this?" he asks, taking the package and turning it over in his hands, raising an eyebrow in curiosity._

"_Just a little leverage," she smirks, inclining her head, "Take a look for yourself." _

_Sliding his thumb under the seal the man pulls out a sheaf of large glossy black and white photographs. Frowning in confusion, he tilts his head and rotates them, squinting at the grainy images. _

"_What's…?"_

_Then he suddenly realises what he is seeing, and his eyes widen in surprise._

"_My, my…"_

"_Who'd have thought, huh?" The woman laughs, standing and zipping up her jacket._

"_Who indeed…" an unpleasant smile spreads slowly across his face as he flicks through the pictures, examining each one in turn before returning them to the envelope and slipping it inside his suit jacket. He pulls out his cell and highlights a familiar number . "But I believe these will come in very useful…" he hits the call button and holds the phone to his ear, smirking at the blonde as she nods and turns to leave, "Tell your father it'll be dealt with."_

_The line connects and the man settles back in his seat, smiling widely,_

"_Winchester, we need to meet."_

(***)

It's the smell that finally pulls Dean from a fitful night's sleep; a cloying bitter scent that nags his senses and pollutes his dreams. He scrunches his nose as he edges into consciousness, shaking his head slightly in aversion… and then he registers the pungent burning smell and wakes fully with a start, jumping out of bed in a panic.

He stands for a moment, staring around in confusion- the air in the room is clear, no hiss or crackle of flames and no cloud of smoke. What the hell?

Plucking at the shirt he slept in, he holds it to his nose and recoils in disgust at the stench of ash lingering there, realising with a groan that the smell is coming from him. He tugs it quickly over his head and tosses it to one side, stripping the bed for good measure and cursing the fact that he never showered before going to sleep last night.

And then he remembers why.

Drawn up short, he freezes in the centre of the room, bundles of laundry in hand, as the events of the previous night come rushing back- the Roadhouse… Gabriel… Cas…

"Shit…" He murmurs, rocking slightly on his feet and closing his eyes as he remembers the dilemma Gabriel left him with.

With a heavy sigh he dumps the pile into the laundry basket and trudges to the shower, feeling like a ton weight has been dropped onto his shoulders. He sets the spray to scalding and steps under, resting his palms against the tiled wall and bowing his head so the water pounds the back of his neck.

His mom used to say things always look better in the morning, but Dean certainly isn't seeing any improvement here.

In the years he's been with Cas, the implications of being caught had always been a distant concern, something that lurked at the back of his mind but nothing that kept him awake at night. The longer they went without being discovered the smaller that concern became, until before he realised he'd become complacent.

Stupid.

And now they'd been found out.

Sure Gabriel said he'll keep his mouth shut, and at this point Dean is only eighty per cent certain that he will, but the truth is it could have been anyone walking through that door- any one of Michael's men if not Michael himself.

And that would have been it- the end- of the relationship… of his life… and likely Cas's too.

But it's worth the risk… right?

He thinks about Castiel, his brain helpfully supplying a montage of images- Cas sat at his desk, frowning over some book… Cas at the theatre, enraptured by the music… Cas smiling, when they're alone or when no one's looking, the real smile Dean knows is just for him… Cas staring up at him, down at him, into him- always the same look of wonder in those intense blue eyes, always looking at Dean as though he's worth something…

Yeah, it's worth it

But then one last image, one borne of his own imagination but which he can't quite get shut of – Castiel tied down, bleeding and in pain. The sure outcome if they continue the way they're going.

"Goddammit!" he growls, banging his fist on the wall, "What am I supposed to do?!"

His question echoes around the empty room, dissipating into nothing like the cooling water swirling down the drain. He tilts his head up in despair, as though the heavens will have something new to offer. But there's no reply, no magical solution.

He wishes he had someone to go to for advice, but there's no one who knows enough about his life that he trusts enough to expose his problems. Occupational hazard.

Sammy would be his first choice of course, it'd probably help to lay out his troubles and seek the calm logical assurance of his brother. But Dean had long since stopped being truthful with Sam about the goings on in his life, and he doubts he could handle his brother's righteous berating right now if he were to break it that not only had he been toeing the wrong side of the law these past years, but that he's been working for one of the biggest crime bosses on the east coast, oh and by the way, he's also been having an affair with his lover…

Yeah, that'd be a fun conversation.

So it looks like he's going to have to figure this one out on his own.

As far as he can tell, he has two options. Carry on seeing Castiel behind closed doors, taking their chances for as long as possible and then face the consequences should the worst happen… or accept that this relationship was doomed from the start, and call it quits while the both of them still have all of their limbs.

Neither of these seem tolerable- whilst the idea of Castiel being hurt by Michael fills him with unbelievable dread, the more selfish part of him can't imagine going the rest of his life never holding Castiel in his arms again.

Groaning in frustration, he shuts off the water and steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his hips and running a hand over the mirror to clear the condensation, before bracing himself on the sink and staring himself in the eye.

"Come on Winchester," he mutters, "What you gonna do?"

When his reflection doesn't offer any more insight he scowls and pads through to the kitchen to make himself some coffee.

Sat staring at the stained chipboard kitchen table, he wonders if perhaps he should speak to Castiel about it after all. Gabriel doesn't know Cas anymore, he doesn't know how strong the other man is.

Maybe Dean's doing him a disservice by taking this decision away from him.

He debates this point all through breakfast, while he's getting dressed, and before he knows it he's sitting in his car across the street from Castiel's gallery.

It's reckless he knows, coming here like this. He's supposed to be running errands for Michael and he has no idea where the other man is right now.

He could be here for all he knows.

That'd be just his luck.

He is just considering calling the gallery to find out if Cas is there alone, when he sees the man himself stepping out onto the street, his ditzy assistant- Betty or Becky something behind him. He watches as Cas locks the door, shaking his head in amusement as the girl chats away animatedly, before the pair cross the street and stroll to the deli on the next block.

Dean feels something inside him uncoil slightly at the sight of the other man, some of the tension he's carrying easing just from seeing him again.

God he wants to just go over there and grab him, kiss him, hold him- anything. It's only been a day since he saw him last, but it feels like so much has changed in that time… between the fire and then Gabriel- he could really use some time with Cas right now.

He's trying to think of ways to ditch the assistant and get Cas alone when the sound of his cell ringing on the passenger seat distracts him. He rolls his eyes when he sees the caller ID, flipping it open and holding it to his ear,

"Winchester."

He listens for a moment, tapping the steering wheel impatiently, eyes on the deli.

"I'm a little busy right now, can't it wait?"

Castiel steps back into view, a paper coffee cup in one hand and what looks like a bagel in the other. He talks with Becky for a moment before the girl jumps up and down with a squeal, kissing him quickly on the cheek before hurrying off in the opposite direction, leaving Cas alone.

Bingo.

Dean has one hand on the door handle ready to run over and catch up with the guy, even if its just for a few minutes, when the voice in his ear draws him up short.

"You sure the info's good?"

He listens for a beat, then slumps into his seat as he watches Cas disappear back inside the gallery. The opportunity's passed; he won't get away with sitting this one out.

Starting the engine he eases out into traffic, giving Cas's place one last long look as he passes,

"Alright Uriel… I'm on my way."

* * *

><p><strong>If you're still with me, please drop me a message or review<strong>

**Love to all, and thanks for the continuing support**


	16. Chapter 15

It's just starting to rain when Dean arrives at the warehouse, the sky grey and heavy casting the deserted space into a premature dusk. The Impala's tyres crunch over gravel and loose dirt as he parks next to Uriel's monstrosity of a car- bulky, shapeless and ugly as fuck… a perfect match for its owner.

The derelict building is the same one where Uriel held the hit man that took out Virgil- until the idiot was outsmarted by the guy and ended up having to shoot him. Dean grins as he remembers Michael's reaction to that little screw up, man it was great to watch Uriel squirm.

Stuffing his gun in the back of his jeans, he pulls the collar of his jacket up around his ears, ducking his head against the rain as he walks briskly into the warehouse. Anticipation thrums through his veins making him feel tetchy and impatient. Uriel hadn't gone into detail over the phone, just saying he had information on the person who hired the hit man, but Dean is sure whoever organised the hit on Virgil is responsible for the Roadhouse too. If Uriel's info's good he might actually get his hands on that son of a bitch today.

Dean wonders if Michael knows about the lead yet or if Uriel is trying to redeem himself by getting hold of the guy first and wants Dean as backup. Usually he would sooner tear off his own fingernails than do Uriel any favours, but in this case he's inclined to help. It'd seriously help his mood right to work out his frustration on the bastard's skull… get a little payback for Jo too.

"Hey Chuckles," his voice echoes around the hollow building, bouncing and reverberating back in stereo, "You in here?"

He stands still for a moment waiting for a response, but gets only silence in return.

"Winchester."

Dean whirls around at the quiet voice behind him, grimacing when he sees the dark-skinned man partially obscured by the shadows.

"Dammit man, what're you doing skulking about there like the frigging Grim Reaper?" Dean holds his chest and glares.

Uriel steps slowly into the light, hands in the pockets of his pressed suit trousers and a large brown envelope tucked under his arm.

The larger man tilts his head and stares at Dean for long enough that the younger man starts to get annoyed. It's a look all of the Di Angeles seem to share, and it makes him feel uncomfortably like a specimen in a petri dish. There's also a slight smirk on Uriel's face that sets Dean's teeth on edge. The moment drags on, until eventually he raises an eyebrow pointedly,

"Dude, not for nothing- but the last person who looked at me like that… I got laid."

Uriel narrows his eyes, but the unpleasant smile never leaves his face.

"You know Dean," he says finally, just before Dean's patience runs out, "I've never liked you."

Dean gapes for a second, then barks out a short sharp laugh,

"Whoa dude, tell it like it is."

The larger man transfers the package to his hands where he turns it over a few times, catching Dean's attention for a moment.

"I've never understood why Michael kept you around. I know John was loyal to my uncle in the day, and Michael's obviously felt a certain debt to him for that… but you I've never been able to figure out. What's so special about you?"

What the fuck? Dean plasters on his best shit-eating grin,

"I like to think it's because of my perky nipples."

Uriel's smile curls into a look of distaste,

"You think nothing can touch you Dean. You know it's demeaning in a family such as ours to have someone of such… low breeding- considered an equal."

"Bite me Uriel." Dean growls. He's here to work dammit; he doesn't need to listen to this shit. "You know what? I've never liked you either. I think you've got a chip on your shoulder the size of Connecticut- maybe it's because your daddy never loved you… maybe it's because your wife can't stand the sight of you and she's fucking her personal trainer. Either way I don't give a shit, so how about we move on past the sharing hour here and get down to business?"

"Ah Dean," the smirk is back, "Ever the professional."

Dean runs a hand through his hair in agitation,

"Come on man, I'm not in the mood for this. I thought you called me here because you knew who popped Virgil-"

"I do."

"-but if all you wanted was to… wait, what?"

"I do know who killed Virgil."

Rolling his eyes Dean breathes a heavy sigh of relief. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

"Awesome. Come on then man, who was it? Was it someone from that new gang on the south side? One of the De Mon boys?"

Uriel laughs softly as he looks down, shaking his head slowly.

"Virgil was a smart man, always careful."

"Obviously not careful enough," Dean mutters sardonically.

"He was. He trusted very few people, and hardly ever let his guard down."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean scrunches his eyes up. He'd forgotten how much Uriel loves the sound of his own voice.

"Look, can you just get to the point here? We're not getting any younger."

Uriel purses his lips, looking mildly disappointed but unsurprised.

"You know Dean, anyone with a pair of brain cells to rub together would have figured it out by now. Though I don't know why I expected more from you."

"Man I'm out of here," Dean turns on his heel angrily, finally reaching the end of his tether. "Call me when you've got something and you're ready to stop wasting my time."

"The truth is," he hears Uriel call from behind him. "The only person who could have gotten the drop on Virgil Di Angeles… is a Di Angeles."

It takes a few seconds for the words to register, but when they do, Dean grinds to a halt. He remains frozen for a second in disbelief, before turning slowly to face the other man as everything suddenly falls into place.

"You…"

Uriel spreads his arms expansively, "Me."

The larger man's expression hasn't changed, his countenance coolly superior like always, no hint of guilt or repentance.

Dean gapes in disbelief. This guy just admitted to killing his own brother, without so much as batting an eyelid. This is the man that levelled the Roadhouse and killed…

It takes a fraction of a second for the white-hot rage that starts somewhere in Dean's chest to build rapidly and race throughout his whole body. A red film descends over his eyes and blood rushes in his ears, screaming for revenge, bloody revenge. The gun is in his hands before he even thinks about it,

"Why you son of a-"

"Nah ah Dean, you don't really want to do that," Uriel holds his hands up, but that infuriating smirk remains fixed in place.

"Oh no, I really want to do that." Dean releases the safety and takes aim, willing his arm still despite the tremors of fury wracking his body.

"You really are just a mindless soldier aren't you," Uriel shakes his head disapprovingly, "Shoot first ask questions later."

"What questions do I need to ask?" Dean gestures wildly with the pistol, "You killed your own brother man… you killed all those people at the road house."

"Regrettable, but true."

The asshole nods contritely, as though he's talking about some unfortunate lay-offs at the office, not the brutal murder of twenty people.

The image of Jo lifeless in his arms, her beautiful face blackened and blistered flashes behind Dean's eyes, and that's all it takes for him to find his composure, his hand steady as a rock as Uriel stares down the barrel.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put a bullet between your eyes," Dean grits out. Despite wanting nothing more than to end the bastard right this second- he has to know… he has to know why. "You murdering son of a bitch."

"Not murder Dean, no." The larger man takes a step closer, "My work is conversion. How long have you been at Michael's beck and call yet what have you got to show for it?"

"You were trying to convert them?" Dean frowns doubtfully.

"Forget them for a moment," Uriel waves dismissively. "The people I'm working with, they want you to join us. Much as I hate to say it, you're good at what you do Dean. And most of all, Michael trusts you."

"Join you, in what? What the fuck are you talking about?"

Uriel is still moving, slowly making his way nearer to Dean. His voice is low now, persuasive.

"We want Michael removed, and replaced with someone worthy of leading this family. The way it should always have been."

"That's what this is all about, some kind of fucking mutiny?" Dean raises his voice in anger. This is what Jo died for, some overly ambitious prick's delusions of grandeur. He feels sick. "You're insane. Who's going to take over then, you?"

"No not me… " Uriel sighs, shaking his head, "… Someone else."

"Who?"

"That isn't important right now. All you need to know is that there's a plan in place. You play your part and there will be rewards for you once Michael is out of the way."

"And the Roadhouse, Virgil, what was their part?"

"Those were… strategic. They each played an important role in Michael's operation, and it's vital that he's significantly weakened before anything else can progress."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing man." Dean shakes his head incredulously, "You killed one of my best friends, not to mention all those other innocent people. You're a traitor to your family and there's no way in hell I'd betray Michael for you. You must be crazy to even think I would."

For all the things he's called Uriel over the years, Dean never pegged him for stupid. How could he think he would get Dean on side by casually rationalising all those murders as part of some grand plan? Or get Dean to choose a man he hates over Michael?

Dean glances about quickly, and spots a roll of cable on a steel table pushed up against the opposite wall. Keeping his gun levelled at the other man's head, he starts to circle around, edging towards it. Despite wanting nothing more than to blow the guy's head off, he knows Michael would be furious if he just killed Uriel now, without letting him know first. Especially with the magnitude of what he's just revealed.

Surely Uriel could have predicted this outcome. Moron.

"You know I ought to make you fucking suffer for what you've done… I really wish I could. But something tells me Michael's going to want that pleasure himself. I just hope he lets me take a turn."

Strangely, Uriel doesn't seem affected by the threat.

"Oh I wouldn't involve Michael in this Dean if I were you…" Uriel flicks his wrist and the brown envelope lands on the table next to Dean. His lips curl in a beatific smile that makes the younger man suddenly uneasy "… Not unless you want to discuss those too."

"What the fuck's that?" Dean eyes the package warily

"Take a look and see for yourself," Uriel chuckles darkly, "It won't bite."

It takes Dean a few minutes to open the envelope, trying to work with one hand while still keeping one eye and the gun aimed at the other man. Uriel just stands waiting patiently, hands resting in his pockets as he looks on unconcerned until eventually Dean manages to undo the seal and tip the contents out onto the desk.

"What… " he frowns in confusion, seeing the sheaf of photographs and picking one up to try and make sense of it. They look as though they've been taken with some kind of night vision lens, the images shadowy and indistinct. There seems to be a car in the centre of the picture he's holding, the surrounding landscape looking oddly familiar.

Placing the picture back on the table, he picks up the next, and what he sees immediately makes his blood run cold.

This picture is much closer, and from here the number plate identifying the car is clearly visible.

It's the Impala.

And Dean and Castiel are in the back seat.

"Fuck…"

Dean's arm falls as though in a daze, the gun clattering to the table as he covers his mouth with one hand, unable to tear his eyes from the image in front of him.

He can just about make out his own face, caught in profile, his head turned to one side and his lips pressed to the shoulder of the man in front of him. Even without the car though, it's enough to recognise him. Cas however has been captured full on, smiling down at Dean, his face unwittingly turned to face the camera hidden in the bushes.

For a second Dean is back there, feeling the close heat inside the car despite the chill down by the reservoir, his nostrils filled with the scent of leather and Cas, his hands on the other man's damp skin as he rises against him.

"How did you… where did you get these?"

Dean's voice seems foreign to his own ears, weak and strained as he forces the words out past the lump in his throat. He feels like he's been punched in the gut, the urge to double over and retch almost overwhelming. His breath comes in short shallow gasps and his fingers tremble as he lets go of the photograph, letting it flutter to the ground.

"That's not really important now, is it Dean?"

Feeling light-headed, Dean curls his hands around the table for support, fighting the numbness that threatens to overtake him, paralysing him with panic.

Uriel is right next to him now, circling Dean like cornered prey.

"Tut tut Dean. You cut yourself a slice of… angel food cake, didn't you?" The large man laughs, watching Dean struggle for control.

It's clear he's enjoying this.

"Tell me, just how did you manage to get the boss's whore to bend over for you? I thought that little bitch had higher standards."

"Don't you talk about him like that." Dean growls, suddenly snapping out of his stupor. Visibly pulling himself together he stands straighter and squares his jaw, meeting Uriel's amused stare with a challenging one of his own. "Don't you dare."

"Ah that's sweet, you actually care about him don't you? How long's it been going on Dean?"

"What do you care?" Dean snaps, "You're junkless down there, right? Like a Ken doll?"

"Now now Dean." Uriel laughs and shakes his head. "Though it does put everything in a different light now doesn't it? Perhaps you'd like to rethink your loyalty to Michael now… since it obviously isn't such a big concern for you when you're thinking with your downstairs brain…"

"Or how about I just kill you now, and this all goes away," Dean grabs the gun from the table and points it at the larger man.

"Put the gun down Dean. You can't be stupid enough to think these are the only copies of the pictures and that I haven't set up a contingency plan. It's time to negotiate."

Dean deflates at that. Damn. He struggles to stay calm as his head bounces though all his different options, trying to work through each possible scenario as quickly as possible and figure out what to do.

Everything in him protests against joining Uriel against Michael- it'd feel like signing a deal with the devil. But the pictures change everything. This isn't just about him now, its Cas too.

"I suppose you want my help in exchange for you keeping your mouth shut about me and Cas," he says, stalling.

Uriel could be bluffing he supposes, about the copies. He could kill Uriel now and take that chance. Sure Michael would tear him a new one for not giving him a chance to interrogate the traitor himself… but he could deal with that.

If he's wrong though, and those photos find their way to Michael…

He stops that thought right there. He needs a clear head right now, he can't start panicking again.

"Something like that,"

"You should tell me what your plans are then," Dean says matter-of-factly, "If I'm going to be a part of this, I should know what's going on and who I'm dealing with."

"As far as you're concerned, you'll be dealing with me." Uriel says firmly. "We just need to know that you're on side and that you'll do what's asked of you when the time comes."

"Come on man, I need to know what I'm involved in. Can you at least tell me who you're planning to replace Michael with?"

"That is need to know Dean," Uriel smiles unpleasanty, "And you don't. So tell me- are you in, or do I need to pay my cousin a little visit?"

"I don't have much choice do I," Dean grunts, running a hand over his face, "I guess I'm in."

"That's the spirit," Uriel grins, turning his back to head out of the warehouse. "Now just forget this ever happened, go on like normal, and you'll hear from me soon."

"Wait," Dean follows him, "What about Castiel, the pictures? I want the copies."

"Don't be stupid Dean," Uriel doesn't stop, just slows down and smirks over his shoulder "There's nothing to stop you killing me then. This way we both have to trust each other."

Dean expected as much. But this thieves bargain is not something he can stomach… not when Cas's safety hangs in the balance.

"I'm afraid I can't let you go without knowing where those pictures are." Dean catches up to him.

"You'll just have to-"

Uriel doesn't get to finish his sentence before the butt of Dean's gun connects sharply with his temple and the large man crumples to the floor in a heap.

"Sorry man, that just isn't going to work for me."

(***)

Dean braces himself on the hood of the Impala, eyes scrunched tightly shut as he struggles to slow his breathing and settle the roiling nausea in his gut. His head feels like it's been filled with wet sand, thick and heavy, and he shakes it as if to clear the remnants of a nightmare.

Only problem is, this nightmare's real.

How could he have been so stupid? How did he not see this coming?

He'd thought they were ok, that they'd been careful enough, now it turns out he and Cas have been made twice in as many days.

His first instinct is to go to Castiel, bundle him in the car and run away with him to the end of the earth. This is the moment he's been dreading, when everything comes tumbling down around them. After years of balancing precariously on the cliff edge, the waves have taken their toll and the last few inches of solid ground have crumbled beneath them. The long road they've been treading has finally brought them to ruin, just like he always knew it would.

And then on top of that- Uriel's treachery. He can't believe it, for all the guy's short-comings Dean always thought he was loyal to his family at the very least.

Taking a deep swig from the battered silver flask he keeps tucked in his jacket pocket, Dean rounds the car and opens the trunk, clenching his fingers to stop them trembling.

No time for brooding over it now.

Dean Winchester doesn't brood… he takes care of things.

The whisky burns his throat and makes his chest tingle on the way down, but it does the trick, calming him enough that he can think clearly.

It feels like the last two days have been one revelation after another. He seems to have re-evaluated his priorities more in that time than he can keep track of.

Shoving aside a few loose beers and an old rug, he lifts the base of the trunk to reveal the weapons stashed underneath. He ignores the random knives, guns and knuckledusters, and goes straight for the wooden box wedged beneath an old sawn-off, carefully pulling it free. The box is small and non-descript, made from cheap unstained wood held shut with a simple brass clasp. Smoothing his hands over the lid, Dean swallows tightly, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing deeply.

He'd sworn he would never do this again. He'd sworn he wouldn't… couldn't be that person anymore.

But with the picture of Jo's scorched corpse still seared into the back of his eyelids, and Cas's broken body from his nightmares… he pushes away any concern for his own sanity and concentrates on finding that cold place of blood and ice in his mind where there are no restraints and he can do what has to be done.

Uriel can't be trusted. He's a traitor who's killed without remorse, and there's no way he can have a person like that holding Cas's fate in his hands.

Dean has to take care of this, now.

He has no choice.

* * *

><p><strong>Slowly but surely, we're still plodding on. I found this chapter particularly difficult to write, but got there in the end. Now the board is set, hold on to you hats because things are going to get rough! (<strong>**I may have to slot some Dean/Cas into the next chapter though, just to balance things out)**

**As always, reviews/comments/pms are much appreciated. ****Thanks for reading**


End file.
